Kaleidoscope Tales
by Frost Deejn
Summary: Semi in-cannon glimpses into Calleigh and Eric's lives and loves. With poetry.
1. Threads

**Kaleidoscope Tales**

Disclaimer: I do not own or write the real _CSI: Miami_. Any questions?

Author's note: This is an experiment; I'm not sure how well it will work, or how long it will last. A series of vignettes to satisfy my current obsession with Eric and Calleigh, and to share some of my favorite poetry. If you want to know where you can find a particular poem, or if you don't understand a poem or how it relates to the scene, send me a message and I'll tell you. I chose the title in part in homage to the Japanese poetry anthology _Tales of Ise_, which inspired the format of poems embedded in prose. The word "kaleidoscope" is derived from the Greek words _kalos _(beautiful), _eidos _(shape), and _scopeion _(to look). I feel it's a fitting symbol for the shifting relationship between Calleigh Duquesne and Eric Delko.

Sources: _The Kokinsh__ū, _translated by Laurel Rasplica Rodd and Mary Catherine Henkenius; Everyman's Library Pocket Poets' _Love Poems_, edited by Peter Washington.

Anonymous, _Kokinshu 483:_

If unlike these strands  
braided tightly together  
to carry jewels  
we can never meet, what thread  
will hold my spirit to life?

Eric Delko had no way of knowing how much this job would change his life.

The nervous new CSI was being given a tour of the lab by Tim Speedle. "And this is Firearms. The first thing you should know about our firearms expert is that it's never a good idea to sneak up on her."

Eric wasn't surprised to recognize the woman in the white lab coat. He'd been hoping to see her.

"Calleigh," Speedle said, "this is the new guy, Eric."

"We've met. Delko, right?" she said, taking off one glove to shake his hand.

"Yeah. I didn't think you'd remember me."

"I never forget a face. Or a bad pick-up line," she replied with a teasing smile.

Speedle rolled his eyes. "We'll let you get back to work. I still need to show the kid the QD Lab and the morgue."

"Have fun," she called after them in her tintinnabular Southern drawl.

"You hit on her?" Speedle asked when they were out of earshot.

"What, you haven't?"

"I know when someone's out of my league."

"No guts, no glory," Eric countered.

He scoffed. "Trust me, junior, you're not ready to handle anything of that caliber yet."

The encounter slipped to the back of Eric's mind as he continued the tour of the lab. It was, after all, his first day on the job, and he had a lot to take in.

Christina Rosetti, "I Wish I Could Remember"

_Era gia l'ora che volge il desio._ -Dante.  
_Ricorro al tempo ch'io vi vide prima. _-Petrarca.

I wish I could remember that first day,  
First hour, first moment of your meeting me,  
If bright or dim the season, it might be  
Summer or Winter for aught I can say;  
So unrecorded did it slip away,  
So blind was I to see and to foresee,  
So dull to mark the budding of my tree  
That would not blossom yet for many a May.  
If only I could recollect it, such  
A day of days! I let it come and go  
As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow;  
It seemed to mean so little, meant so much;  
If only now I could recall that touch,  
First touch of hand in hand - Did one but know!


	2. Forbidden Fruit

Sources: _A Book of American Humorous Verse_; _The Tale of Genji_

Chronology: pre-season 1.

Emily Dickinson:

Forbidden fruit a flavor has  
That lawful orchards mocks;  
How luscious lies the pea within  
The pod that Duty locks!

Calleigh wasn't entirely sure about her new coworker. Eric Delko seemed like he could prove to be a good CSI with a little more experience, but his punctuality left something to be desired.

He sure was easy on the eyes, though.

She glanced up when she heard him finally arrive at the crime scene. "Hey," she smiled. "Next time, remember to identify yourself when you come in. That way I won't think you're a suspect and shoot you by mistake."

The younger CSI smiled back and set his kit down on the floor. "Does that happen a lot?"

"Not a whole lot, but it's best to err on the side of caution. This looks like a pretty standard burglary. The house's owner came home from work to find her computer, television, and money missing. The bathroom window was pried open. You want to get started printing the window?"

"Sure."

"Actually, come to think of it there might be some good shoe prints in the dirt outside. We should probably get those taken care of first, since they can degrade so quickly. Do you mind doing that while I print the window?"

"So you can keep an eye on me?" he jokingly accused.

That had been one reason she suggested it-after all, he was new, and it would be a good idea to be someplace where she could oversee his work and give him constructive criticism. "Maybe." She took her kit and walked out.

He followed her a moment later, admiring the way her hair swayed as she walked gracefully on high heels. "Fine with me. That means I get to keep an eye on you, too."

Calleigh smirked in amusement. She was used to the way men acted around her. As long as they didn't get too serious or carry it too far, she was more often flattered than annoyed by flirtatious comments. "Just as long as you can keep your other eye on the evidence."

Murasaki Shikibu:

I might have met the first lily of spring, he says.  
I look upon a flower no less pleasing.


	3. Reconciled

Sources: _Persian Poets,_ ed. by Peter Washington; _The Tale of Genji, _trans. Edward Seidensticker

Chronology: "Target Specific" post-ep.

Hafiz "Ghazal 35," trans. Elizabeth Gray:

I said, 'I suffer because of you.' She said, 'Your suffering will end.'  
I said, 'Become my moon.' She said, "If it comes to pass.'

I said, 'From lovers learn the custom of loyalty.'  
She said, 'Among moon-faced ones this is rarely found.'

I said, 'I will barricade your image from the road of my sight.'  
She said, 'It is a thief, and will come a different way.'

I said, 'The scent of your hair has led me astray in the world.'  
She said, 'If you understand, it can also be your guide.'

I said, 'Happy is the wind that rises from the garden of beauty.'  
She said, 'Fresh is the breeze that that comes from my alleyway.'

I said, 'Thirst for your ruby lip killed us with hope.'  
She said, 'Serve it, for it comes to nourish its servants.'

I said, 'When does your merciful heart intend a truce?'  
She said, 'Speak of this to no one until that time comes.'

I said, 'Did you see how those joyful times ended?'  
She said, 'Be quiet, Hafiz. This grief will also end.'

Calleigh had made pasta. She'd wanted to prepare something more impressive, but hadn't had time. She had a feeling Eric knew making dinner was a delay tactic.

"Do you think the sauce is too salty?"

"I think it's perfect," Eric replied honestly. "You didn't need to cook for me."

"I know." She'd asked if they could talk about it tonight. "It" being her friendship with Terrence, and his jealousy about it. But it was hard for her to talk about things like that, about things like relationships.

A long silent minute passed. "I'm sorry," he said.

"So am I."

"For what? You can spend time with whoever you want. It was my fault for getting jealous."

"It's okay. I could tell you were trying hard not to. I'm sorry about earlier, at the crime scene. You were worried about me and I just brushed you off. I should have reassured you that I was fine."

He smiled, exhaling in what was almost a laugh. "You were worried about preserving the evidence. You didn't offend me or anything."

"But did I hurt you?"

His eyes lowered. "You don't like being worried about. I just need to remember that."

She smiled for him. "I liked it when you worried about me at the hospital."

"When you didn't have any evidence to work on." He looked down at his food. The reason he'd been worried about her after she was attacked at the crime scene was the same reason he'd been jealous that she went horseback riding with Terrence, and the same reason he was so desperate for her forgiveness now. "I'm just afraid of losing you."

She examined his face. "To Terrence, you mean?"

He wouldn't meet her eyes. "Calleigh, you know, I want you to be happy, even if it's not with me. And no matter what I'll always be your friend."

"You have no idea how much that means to me, Eric," she said, remembering what John Hagen had said to her moments before killing himself. She moved to his side of the table and took his hands. "You trust me, right?"

"With my life," he replied with a lambent smile. "You know that."

"Then believe me when I tell you that it's you: I'm happy with you. And trust that I'll never do anything to hurt you if I can help it."

For a long moment they only looked at each other.

"You can be very convincing," he joked.

Her laugh and her nearness made his pulse race. "Good."

Their lips met, and they resolved their problems the way new lovers often do.

Murasaki Shikibu:

Along the cliffs of these mountains, locked in snow,  
Are the tracks of only one. That one is you.


	4. Overheard

Sources: _The Tale of Genji; Great Short Poems  
_

Chronology: "Wolfe in Sheep's Clothing" post-ep.

Anonymous,_ Kokinshu_ 1037, Trans. Edward Seidenstricker

Why will you not clearly tell me that you hate me?  
Uncertainty weaves a sadly tangled web.

Ryan was waiting in the locker room. He wasn't surprised that Eric and Calleigh arrived for work together. They paused when they saw him. He stood up.

"Hey." It was a small greeting, reflecting how he felt. "Can I talk to you guys? About yesterday?"

The look on Eric's face showed that he was still angry and disappointed. Calleigh's eyes held a distant coldness that almost hurt more, but she said, "Of course."

He sighed, and then launched into a quick explanation, interrupted at several points by apologies. When he finished, he looked at them.

Calleigh shook her head slightly. "You should have just told us."

Eric touched her arm. "These Russians have eyes and ears everywhere. We know that. Ryan didn't have a choice. It wasn't just him in danger."

"You're right." She returned her attention to Ryan. "I'm sorry. That was horrible, what you went through. And this is definitely not the time for us to start distrusting each other."

"Thank you. Both of you." Ryan walked away. He turned back after a few steps, feeling like there was more he needed to say, and returned to the locker room. But he heard Eric talking, and paused to listen. He knew he shouldn't have been eavesdropping on his coworkers, especially after what Calleigh just said about trust, but he needed to know if he'd just lost two of his closest friends.

"We didn't talk about that possibility," Eric commented.

"Yeah." Calleigh turned to face him. "What do you think we should do? If I were in trouble, and telling you would put me in more danger, what would you want me to do?"

Ryan realized they weren't talking about him. What he didn't know, of course, was that after work yesterday, to cheer each other up after the unpleasantness caused by their coworker's duplicity, Calleigh and Eric had gone out to dinner. They'd discussed what they would do if one of them had a secret. The possible reasons for it had ranged from being asked to spy for the FBI, evading an IAB investigation, infidelity, covering up criminal activity, and buying birthday presents. The mood of their conversation had gradually drifted from solemn to serious to playful, including at one point Eric getting down on one knee and, while almost _almost _managing to keep a straight face, asking Calleigh to be his unindicted co-conspirator. She'd accepted with exaggerated delight. One person at a nearby table had laughed so hard at overhearing them that he'd nearly choked. In every scenario they'd discussed with the one exception of surprise parties, they had decided to share everything with each other.

Eric finally answered with a small shake of his head. "I wouldn't want you to tell me. Would you?"

"No; I wouldn't want you to tell me either."

"But would you tell me?"

"If you asked, or if you were worried."

"You would hurt me more in the long run by putting yourself in danger just so I would worry less?"

"Maybe. If you asked me."

"We should think of a secret code to let each other know if that happens," Eric suggested.

Calleigh smiled. "Like, if I ever tell you I'm in the mood for persimmon, you'll know there's something wrong?"

"Exactly," he chuckled. "And I could tell you I'm craving caviar."

"Have you ever even tried caviar?"

"No, and I never will."

"It's a delicacy; you don't know if you like it until you try it."

"Then I guess I'll never know if I like it."

"Okay. But what if we do ever decide we want our least favorite foods for some reason?"

"I guess then we'll really be in trouble."

They both laughed, then spent a moment just looking at each other. "I'll see you after work," Calleigh said, heading toward the door.

"You'll probably see me at work."

She looked over her shoulder at him for a moment. "I hope to see more of you after work," she muttered quickly.

It was all Ryan could do to keep quiet after hearing that. He hurried away before they could see him. They would probably forgive him, he thought with a smile: they seemed to be in a good mood.

Coventry Patmore, "The Kiss":

'I saw you take his kiss!' 'Tis true.'  
'O modesty!' 'Twas strictly kept:  
He thought me asleep - at least, I knew  
He thought I thought he thought I slept.'


	5. Alexithymia

Sources:_ Kokinshu_; _Tales of Ise  
_

Chronology: pre-season one

Ki no Tsurayuki, _Kokinshu 83_:

I cannot believe  
that nothing falls as swiftly  
as the cherry blooms -  
for a man's heart does not even  
await the winds to turn away

"You think she'll come back?" Speedle asked as Calleigh watched the measuring tape slowly unroll.

"Hard to say, Tim. You know Megan better than I do. What do you think?"

"I don't know."

Delko ran up to them. "Sorry I'm late. What do you want me to do?"

"Why don't you start photographing the car?" Calleigh asked.

"I'd love to." He went to work.

"Make sure you get a lot of close-ups on the dents in the bumper," Speedle said. "We'll need to determine which ones are fresh."

"Got it. And you're measuring the length of the skid marks so we can calculate how fast the car was going when he hit the brakes, right?"

"Right. Ten-point-two meters," Calleigh announced. "This car was going well over the speed limit."

Speedle jotted the number down. "Hey Delko, does you being late have anything to do with that woman you left the bar with last night?"

He smiled guiltily. "Maybe."

"She was good-looking."

Calleigh noticed an unpleasant twinge in the pit of her stomach. What was that, disappointment? Why would she be disappointed about learning Delko met a woman at a bar? What her colleagues did on their own time was none of her business. It wasn't like she'd ever seriously considered their flirting might lead to something more serious. Maybe she was just hungry. That had to be it.

She glanced up and shook her head, smiling. "You boys." She went back to work. "What do you say we get this done quick so we can stop for lunch on our way back to the lab?"

Speedle nodded vaguely. He'd been wondering if she'd be upset to learn that Eric was an unscrupulous ladies' man, but she seemed to be okay with it. Of course, with Calleigh it was hard to tell: she could wear a cheerful façade like Horatio wore sunglasses.

Tales of Ise 72:

The pine of Oyodo  
Is not inaccessible;  
The resentful waves are themselves to blame,  
For they come no closer than the beach  
And then go back again.


	6. Reflection

Sources: _The Tale of Genji; If not, Winter: Fragments of Sappho_, trans. Anne Carson

Chronology: "Chip/Tuck" post-ep.

Lady Ise, _Kokinshu_ 681:

Each morning an uglier visage in my mirror.  
Not even in your dreams shall you behold me.

They fell into step almost unconsciously as they walked out into the Miami evening. They glanced at each other, but didn't speak, both deep in thought, both troubled by the case...by two women whose desire to be perfect had changed them for the worse: one transformed into a recluse who couldn't stand to be seen, the other a killer.

Eric watched Calleigh's face from the corner of his eye. He wanted to tell her that she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, but that seemed like the wrong thing to say: it was obsession with looks, after all, that had caused so much suffering. He wanted to tell her he would love her no matter what she looked like, even if she looked like Mrs. Corbett, but then he ran the risk of her asking if he would have fallen in love with her in the first place if she weren't beautiful, and he honestly didn't know what he would say to that, because it was beyond his imagination.

She glanced at him, catching him looking at her. "What?"

"Nothing," he said quickly.

She smiled weakly. "It's okay. I was just thinking..." She had just been thinking that it was easy for her to be shocked by what some people did in an effort to improve their looks, but she was in no position to criticize them, because she had always been beautiful, with all the benefits and privileges that came with it. She'd used her looks to her advantage, to help her get to witnesses and suspects. She knew the power it gave her. Was it right for her to think that other people shouldn't try to buy their way to what she had through the luck of being born with it? Besides, plastic surgery was really just an extreme expression of the same desire that compelled women to wear makeup and high-heeled shoes.

No, she couldn't blame the patients. It was the plastic surgeons...they made their living by convincing people they weren't good enough as they were, and that they could fix them. It was society for valuing physical appearances over everything else. "There's so much about this case I don't like," she said.

"I know. It raises some troubling questions."

"Like will you leave me when I'm all gray-haired and wrinkled?" she joked to lighten the mood.

"Never. Will you leave me when I am?"

"Never." She turned to him. "But I have to admit it doesn't hurt that you're so good looking."

He laughed. "Yeah." His smile dimmed, because her joke touched on one the the things that was bothering them about the case. "Yeah."

Sappho:

Some men say an army of horse and some men say an army on foot  
and some men say an army of ships is the most beautiful thing  
on the black earth. But I say it is  
what you love.


	7. Una Rosa

Sources: _Versos Sencillos, _José Martí; _Only Companion: Japanese Poems of Love and Longing, _trans. by Sam Hamill

Chronology: pre-season one

José Martí, Versos Sencillos XXXIXX

Cultivo una rosa blanca,  
en julio como en enero,  
para el amigo sincero  
que me da su mano franca.

Y para el cruel que me arranca  
el corazón con que vivo,  
cardo ni ortiga cultivo:  
cultivo la rosa blanca.

She'd called him "little brother." He retorted, as he often did, "I'm taller than you are." She laughed. Whenever Marisol and Eric got together, it was like they were children again.

It was a pleasant, breezy afternoon. Not too hot, not too humid. They were at an alfresco café overlooking the beach.

"You'll always be my _hermanito,_" she informed him.

"I know," he sighed in mock exasperation. "How's the clam chowder?"

"Not bad. I've had better." She slurped a couple of spoonfuls of it. The breeze toyed with her thick hair and calico blouse. "So you still liking your new job?" she asked.

"I love it. The work is really interesting. Every day is a new challenge. And my coworkers are great."

"Tell me about them."

"Well, there's Speedle. He cracks me up. He makes all these funny little comments and observations without cracking a smile. Duquesne - the bullet girl - she's so friendly and upbeat. The medical examiner Dr. Woods mothers everyone. And my boss, Horatio, he's the best boss I can imagine. He always knows what to do."

"Does it get to you? Looking at murders and things every day?"

"You know, it did at first," he answered. "But you get used to it. It helps to have things to do after work to clear my mind out."

"Are you still seeing...what was her name, Cynthia?"

"Lydia? No. That ended last month. I've been seeing this girl Madison. She's..." His lip twitched into a half-smile. "Really nice."

Marisol leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, shaking her head but smiling. "Be careful about how many hearts you break. One of these days you'll fall head over heels for someone and get a taste of your own medicine." She'd been teasing him about his girlfriends since he was in high school.

"No way. You know that's not my style."

"Mark my words, little brother, you'll find someone who'll surprise you. Or make you surprise yourself."

He was shaking his head, laughing. "You know me better than that."

"Any day now you'll meet the one for you," she teased, and then started humming "Here Comes the Bride."

"Tell you what: if I ever decide to get married, you can be my best man."

"I'll start airing out my tuxedo," she laughed.

Ever since childhood, the two had been as close as siblings could be, and now that they were grown up Eric regarded Marisol as not just his sister but his closest friend and confidante. He could always talk to her about anything. She was always there for him.

Princess Oku, Manyoshu 106:

Traveling together,  
that high mountain in autumn  
was almost impassable.  
How can you bravely hope  
to make that journey alone?


	8. Haunted

Sources: Everyman's Library Pocket Poets _Poems Bewitched and Haunted, _ed. John Hollander; _Tales of Ise_

Chronology: Season 2

Francis William Bourdillon, "A Ghost":

I met a ghost in an old bare house,  
That looked with lustreless eyes at me,  
And drove from my eyes sweet dreams & drowse,  
Till the morning made it flee.

My house is builded of years decayed,  
And in vain I fill it with new glad light,  
For a love that is lost is a ghost unlaid  
That troubles the silent night.

Alexx was on her way out the door with the body on a stretcher when Eric arrived at the victim's house. She looked up. "It's not pretty in there," she commented.

"It never is," he replied. "Murder?"

"Unless he was stabbed fourteen times with a kitchen knife in some kind of freak accident."

Eric slowly entered the house. Calleigh was there, photographing the blood-soaked living room carpet. Her lips were twisted in a slight frown. He'd rarely seen so much blood from a single body. "Who could have hated this guy enough to do this?"

"His ex-wife," she answered. "He had multiple restraining orders against her. He documented the threatening e-mails she sent him and messages she left on his answering machine. From what Frank told me on the phone, some of them were pretty scary."

"So I guess all that's left for us is to prove it." He looked at a picture on the wall, showing a man with receding brown hair and a wide smile beside a raven-haired woman with sparkling dark eyes. "They looked so happy in that photo."

"That's not his ex; it's his current wife. The cops are trying to get in touch with her, but when they called her work she'd just left, and her cellphone is turned off."

Eric turned away from the photo and pulled on his gloves to get to work.

"There are blood drops in the kitchen. Looks like the killer washed off in the sink," Calleigh said.

"She might have cut herself," he speculated. "I'll start collecting samples."

"I can do that. Would you check the sink for prints?"

"You're the boss."

"And don't you forget it."

Eric smiled briefly, but it didn't cover the fact that he was bothered by the scene. "I won't."

Calleigh finished photographing the living room and went to work documenting the blood in the kitchen. "You okay Delko?"

"Yeah, it's just...in cases like this I can't help but think how many ex-girlfriends I have. I'm sure there are plenty of them who'd like to see me as a bloodstain on a carpet."

"So just don't date psychos," she flippantly suggested.

"Good advice."

Over the time they'd worked together, their friendship had developed far past the flirtatious teasing they'd started with. It hadn't taken long for Eric's admiration and respect for Calleigh as a colleague and a friend to get him to see past her looks and treat her like one of the guys, and for Calleigh to come to regard Eric's romantic escapades as a somewhat endearing quirk. At this time, neither of them would have imagined they'd ever be more than friends, or even want more than friendship.

Calleigh stooped down to examine the floor more closely. "Some of these aren't blood drops. Some of them are smears. I think the killer got some blood on her shoe."

They heard some noise from outside. One of the police officers at the scene said, "You can't go in there, ma'am."

"The wife..." Calleigh put down her kit and hurried to the foyer just as the front door opened. "Mrs. Burgess? You don't want to go in there."

"What's going on? Where's Joe?"

She paused for a sympathetic moment before softly saying, "I'm sorry."

The sudden widow gasped, her lips moved but she was unable to speak for several seconds. When she did her voice was small and squeaking. "It was _her _wasn't it?"

"We don't know anything yet. If you'll step outside, one of the officers needs to talk to you for a moment."

The woman allowed herself to be escorted out by an officer, and Calleigh returned to the kitchen. Eric watched her. It continually amazed him how their work never seemed to get to her. If he hadn't known her, he never would have guessed that she investigated crimes for a living. Who knew what else she had hidden behind that dazzling smile of hers that should have been permanently dimmed long ago?

"How do you do it?" he asked quietly.

"Do what?"

He shook his head and went back to dusting the print he'd found on the faucet. "Never mind."

Tales of Ise 61:

When one crosses  
The "River of Dyes,"  
Is there a way  
To prevent oneself  
From falling in love?


	9. Exile

Sourced: _Romeo and Juliet, _William Shakespeare; _Tale of Genji_

Chronology: "Sink or Swim"

William Shakespeare:

Romeo:

Ha, banishment! be merciful, say 'death.'  
For exile hath more terror in his look,  
Much more than death: do not say 'banishment.'  
...

'Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here,  
Where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog  
And little mouse, every unworthy thing,  
Live here in heaven and may look on her;  
But Romeo may not: more validity,  
More honourable state, more courtship lives  
In carrion-flies than Romeo: they may seize  
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand  
And steal immortal blessing from her lips...

Eric's eyes were fixed on the blankness of the ceiling in his cell at the federal detention center. He'd always hated the way immigration laws worked, but not until now did he fully realize how cruel they could be. He was going to be deported, ripped away from the only home he'd ever known and sent to a country he didn't know, with laws and customs he wasn't familiar with, where he would have no friends, no connections, nothing. Just because he wasn't born here, because his parents had lied about his birth, he'd have everything torn away from him: his family, the work he loved, the city he'd served and protected for years...

He bit his lip to keep the tears from forming.

He might never see Calleigh again.

The system wasn't just unfair, unequal, and uncaring, it was torture. Devastation. In some cases, a death sentence. How did they expect people to survive cut off from everything and everyone they knew and loved?

How would he find the strength to keep going, without Calleigh? He could try to return to America, illegally if necessary, but that was a dangerous voyage. He could die trying to get back to her, and she would never know what happened to him. But could he survive in Cuba? He knew from experience that losing someone you love isn't actually fatal, even when it feels like it. But then, cause of death was undetermined in about three percent of autopsies...maybe some of those had been people whose bodies just couldn't take the suffocating pain of a broken heart.

Murasaki Shikibu:

When shall I, a ragged, rustic outcast,  
See again the blossoms of the city?


	10. Fate

Sources: _The Oxford Book of English Verse 1250 - 1918, _ed. Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch; Rumi, _Birdsong, _trans. Coleman Barks

Chronology: "Sink or Swim"

Alfred Lord Tennyson, from "Maud"

There has fallen a splendid tear  
From the passion-flower at the gate.  
She is coming, my dove, my dear;  
She is coming, my life, my fate;  
The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near;"  
And the white rose weeps, "She is late,"  
The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear;"  
And the lily whispers, "I wait."

It felt good to be wearing his own familiar clothes, instead of that orange jumpsuit. He walked out into the Miami sunlight, a free man, an American citizen again. He could barely contain his happiness.

And then he saw her, waiting for him just outside.

"You missed out," she said.

She was indescribably happy to see him, but her heart was pounding with nervousness. She was nervous because she was determined to kiss him. Maybe not right now, but today. She was ready. More than ready.

He ran the last few steps to her open arms, laughing with relief. He embraced her, filling his arms with her, feeling like a healing warmth flowed from her and suffused him, erasing all the sad, painful, humiliating, unpleasant things that had happened to him the past few days.

She pulled him closer, rubbing his back. She'd been so afraid of losing him she could barely think straight. They drew apart, but didn't let go of each other, as though they were afraid if they lost physical contact they would be separated again

"I was gonna marry you, but your dad stepped in," Calleigh facetiously complained.

He wasn't sure if she was completely joking or not, so he laughed and teased her. "What makes you think I would say yes? Maybe I met someone special on the inside." His hand traveled up and down her arm as he spoke. At the moment, he couldn't stand the idea of not touching her.

"I doubt his cooking is as good as mine," she replied with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "Hey, why don't I take you back to my place and make you a traditional American dinner, since you're new to our country."

He laughed again, but a troubling thought was resurfacing in his mind: he wasn't sure if there was still a hit out on him. If Calleigh got caught in the crossfire...if something happened to her because of him it would kill him. "That sounds good," he said. "but danger has been following me everywhere I go..."

She rolled her eyes. She wrapped her arms around his neck and the next thing he knew her lips were pressed against his. His eyes closed involuntarily, and he savored the kiss he'd been longing for. It ended, leaving a tingling afterglow. Calleigh's hands came to rest on his chest. Eric could hardly believe how beautiful she was, and that she'd actually kissed him. At the same time, looking at her filled him with vague sadness and fear; a sense, perhaps, that this profound happiness would be paid for with even more suffering and tears than he'd endured for her already.

"Calleigh, I'm serious. I don't want anything to happen to you..."

She kissed him again, quickly, completely silencing his objections and casting out his doubts. She gazed at him, not leaving his arms. "Come on. I have the safest house in Miami," she said teasingly. "Do you know how many guns I own?" With their arms around each other, they began walking toward her car. "You protected me; I'll protect you."

When they got to her car, Eric realized he would have to let go of her. He turned to her, gazing into her eyes as he slid his hands down to hers. That's when he noticed she was wearing a ring on the ring finger of her left hand. He glanced down at it quickly, hoping she wouldn't notice his surprise. It looked like it could have been an engagement ring. So she hadn't been completely joking: marrying him had been her back-up plan. She'd been willing to marry him to keep him in the country, with her.

Whatever challenges and heartache he'd been through and whatever might happen later, at this moment Eric was convinced it was all worth it.

Rumi:

Lovers in their brief delight  
gamble both worlds away,  
a century's worth of work  
for one chance to surrender.

Many slow growth-stages build  
to quick bursts of blossom.

A thousand half-loves  
must be forsaken to take  
one whole heart home.


	11. Comfort

Sources: Huministic Texts website; _Love Poems by Women,_ ed. Wendy Mulford

Chronology: Season 2

Po Chu-i, "Night on the West River," trans. Henry Hart

No moon  
To light my way upon the stair,  
Cold comfort  
In the wine I drink alone.

Black clouds,  
Rain,  
The hurried flight of birds,  
Water flowing grayly  
In the dusk.

A rising storm,  
Boats tugging at their mooring ropes.  
Sails full-spread  
To take advantage of the wind.

A moving point of fire  
In the dark,  
The distant lantern  
Of a passing boat.

A month ago, Calleigh would have dialed John's number on a night like this, a lonely night after a difficult case at work. But she and John were over, and she didn't want to raise his hopes by calling him. She could call her father, but she wasn't sure if she could take it if she caught him at a bar, drunk again. She could call her mother, but wasn't in the mood to hear a string of cheap platitudes and blind faith that everything would work out just fine in the end.

She hadn't turned on the lights in her house as it grew dark. Now she sat at her kitchen table, staring at the window. It was a cloudy evening; the sky was an erratic mesh of faded blue and greasy gray.

Why did people kill each other? How could anyone justify - how could anyone _stand -_ to rip someone else's entire life away from them? There had to be some serious defect in humanity...

Her thoughts were interrupted by a ring from her phone. She answered quickly. "Hello?"

_"Hey, Cal." _It was Speedle. _"Eric somehow talked me into going bowling. Want to come?"_

She laughed quietly. "I'd love to."

_"Great. We'll be by your place to pick you up in a few minutes."_

After spending some time with a couple of friends, beating them both at bowling, and sharing jokes and stories over pizza and a couple of beers, Calleigh found her mood significantly improved.

Helene Johnson, "Futility":

It is silly -  
This waiting for love  
In a parlor,  
When love is singing up and down the alley  
Without a collar.


	12. The Dance

Sources: _Immortal Poems of the English Language_; _Birdsong_, Rumi, trans. Coleman Barks

Chronology: season 3

Ernest Dowson, from "Cynara"

I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind,  
Flung roses, roses, riotously with the throng,  
Dancing, to put thy pale lost lilies out of mind;  
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,  
Yea, all the time, because the dance was long:  
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! In my fashion.

The woman's name was Debra. Eric noticed her the minute he walked into the club: a mane of gold-brown curls cascaded over her shoulders, large dark eyes, thick dark red lips, the kind of body most women could only wish for, and a smile he found irresistible. He'd started dancing with her. Two hours later, they were in the back seat of his car, kissing heavily.

He'd been seeing a woman named Sherry for almost a month now, but he'd seen no reason to mention that to Debra. It wasn't like he and Sherry were that serious. Not like he'd said they were exclusive. He wouldn't mind if Sherry hooked up with someone else after a night at a club; why should she mind if he did? It was just one night.

To be honest, though, with Debra's lips on his, her calefascient touch sliding over his skin, her gasping breath in his ears, none of this went through his mind.

Rumi:

With your lips not here  
I kiss rubies to remember.

When I can't sip from you,  
I put my lip on the cup's lip.

Instead of reaching  
into your sky, I kneel  
and take handfuls of earth.


	13. Rue

Sources: _Great Short Poems, _ed. Paul Negri; _The Tale of Genji_

Chronology: "Lost Son"

A.E. Housman:

With rue my heart is laden  
For golden friends I had,  
For many a rose-lipt maiden  
And many a lightfoot lad.

By brooks too broad for leaping  
The lightfoot boys are laid;  
The rose-lipt girls are sleeping  
In fields where roses fade.

Calleigh shed no tears at Speedle's funeral. She just stared steadfastly forward. People died in their line of work. It was a reality they all accepted. It wasn't like this was the first time she's been to the funeral of a fellow officer. But Speed was like family; she'd known him for years, she'd grown to count on him, trust him. She didn't think she'd ever get used to having him gone.

But at least she had her memories of him, which she would always cherish.

And she still had Horatio and Eric and Alexx, the people she shared those memories with, the people who'd shared Speed's friendship. The purpose of funerals, Calleigh reminded herself, was to remind you never to take the people you still have for granted.

Eric listened to the plaintive notes of the bagpipes. He couldn't believe Speed was dead. It didn't seem real; it felt like a horrible dream he would wake up from any moment.

He had just lost one of his closest friends. When Eric first came to work at the CSI lab, Speedle had taken him under his wing, been a kind of mentor to him. He had never felt such a sense of loss.

Horatio delivered a moving eulogy, after which almost everyone was weeping openly. Alexx pressed her fist to her lips as tears streamed down her cheeks.

Eric felt a comforting hand on his arm. He looked over at Calleigh. Her eyes were dry but red-rimmed, and he saw in her face a mirror of the same grief he felt, silent and still but deep, like a jagged tear in the fabric of their lives, which would never be the same again. He offered the tiniest attempt at a smile of gratitude, but the thought shot across his mind that the next funeral could easily be hers. Or Horatio's, or his mother's or father's. It was impossible to know, in such an uncertain world, how long you could have with anyone. Maybe it wasn't worth letting yourself get too attached to people, only to have them ripped away when you least expect it, taking a part of you with them.

Mibu no Tadamine, _Kokinshu _839:

Why did he die in autumn, of all the seasons?  
In autumn one grieves for those who yet remain.


	14. Yours

Author's note: I agree with Marija Magdalena that after the last chapter we could use something with a little more fluff. Perceptive readers may note the poem beginning this chapter isn't very good; it's because it's mine.

Sources: _The Tale of Genji_

Chronology: Season 7

"To take you by your warmth and light,

You are the sun in all the skies."  
"According to my open eyes,

That beauty, Love, is in you too."  
"I'm but the moon reflecting you.

You are the heart of my heart's motion."  
"If I'm your sun, you be my ocean;

I'll melt into your deeps each night."

They were enjoying a postprandial walk along the Miami River at sunset when the conversation turned to parents.

"I just don't know what to do with her sometimes," Calleigh said of her mother. "I keep telling her I am perfectly happy with my job, but she keeps bringing up all the safer professions she's just sure I'd be great at. And then she turns around and brags to all her friends about the work I do. She can be just as frustrating as my dad sometimes."

Eric was frequently amazed that Calleigh didn't complain about her father nearly as much as she, in his opinion, had the right to. "Hey, at least none of your parents put a hit out on you," he joked.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry." She stopped and turned toward him with an apologetic smile. "I really have nothing to be complaining about."

"I'm not saying that. Just...everyone has issues with their parents. There's no getting around it." He was tempted to point out their children would too, but didn't. It was still too early in their relationship to be talking about children. "You know what's funny? Ever since I found out...about my biological father, I've been a lot closer to my dad - the man who raised me. I used to be closer to my mother, but finding out how she betrayed him, betrayed us...and he always treated me like his own son, even though he knew I wasn't. It's made me appreciate him a lot more, a lot more grateful to him." His eyes drifted to the river.

Calleigh took his hand. "Eric," she said softly. "You know, sometimes really good things come out of bad situations. Your mom shouldn't have done that to your father, but it gave your family you. It gave the world you. It gave _me _you. And you couldn't be more wonderful."

He smiled, gazing at her beautiful face in the rosy sunset light. "If I mean that much to you, then I'm glad I was born, for your sake."

"You know that's not what I meant," she laughed, shoving his shoulder playfully.

He caught her hand and held it to his chest. "I know, but I mean it. You're the best thing that's ever been in my life."

She was struck silent. She felt the same way about him, but her brain couldn't find words to express it.

Seeing the look on her face, Eric wondered if he'd said too much. He was always worried that if he revealed the extent of his love for her it would seem like he was coming on too strong, and he'd end up pushing her away. That's why he joked so much about his feelings. He tried to come up with a joke to diffuse the tension he'd created, but he couldn't. Only the truth would allow itself to be spoken. "Whoever my parents are, whether I'm American or Cuban...what I care about most is to be yours."

"You are." It was barely above a whisper. She stepped closer to him and kissed him softly. When she drew away her eyes were fixed on his. "My Eric..."

Anonymous,_ Kokinshu_ 503:

Resolve that I would keep them to myself,  
These thoughts of you, has been quite dissipated.


	15. Love, Lies, Bleeding, Part I

Sources: _The Tale of Genji_, trans. Edward Seidensticker;_ A Study of Poetry_, ed. Don M. Wolfe

Chronology: "Seeing Red" post-ep. I was working on a different chapter, but after last night's episode I just had to write a resolution, because I simply can't wait all summer to find out what happens (I'm very impatient). I will therefore make up my own ending.

Murasaki Shikibu:

Snagged upon the shoals of this river of tears,  
I cannot see you. Deeper waters await me.

She knew. She knew he would help his father, even if he had to break the law to do it. It was the kind of person he was.

She_ knew_ that.

She'd demanded to see his phone, let him know she didn't believe him. She knew he'd lied to her. She thought maybe, if he loved her enough, he wouldn't risk doing anything that could separate them, he'd stay safe, stay on the right side of the law. She hadn't known what else she could do.

A hot, humid wind brushed across the marsh grasses, where search and rescue were combing the waters for any sign of him.

She knew he'd do it. She should have told him that. She should have offered to help. Then he would have told her he'd be at the armory, and she wouldn't have shot at him.

She walked away from the others. She couldn't let them see her like this.

If they found his body, with her bullet...

How could she have been so stupid? How could she have asked Eric to choose the law over his own father's life? Especially when she had herself bent her professional ethics for her father. All she could think, all she could feel, was that she had gotten Eric killed.

She'd never even told him that she loved him. That she loved him more than she'd ever loved anyone. And now she'd lost him. Even if he was alive he'd never forgive her.

"Sharova's being taken to interrogation," Horatio said gently from behind her.

She didn't turn around.

"You can sit this out," he suggested, knowing she wouldn't.

A laugh that sounded more like a sob came from Calleigh's throat. "I _shot_ at him, Horatio. If he... If I don't do absolutely everything in my power to find him, and something happens to him, I don't know if I could live with that." She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, then turned toward him. "Sharova knows more than he's saying."

He nodded. "See what you can get."

Calleigh headed toward her Hummer, concentrating on her breathing. Trying to block out everything but her breathing. Shallow, painful breaths.

Christina Rossetti, "Mirage"

The hope I dreamed of was a dream,  
Was but a dream; and now I wake,  
Exceeding comfortless, and worn, and old,  
For a dream's sake.

I hang my harp upon a tree,  
A weeping willow in a lake;  
I hang my silenced harp there, wrung and snapt  
For a dream's sake.

Lie still, lie still, my breaking heart;  
My silent heart, lie still and break:  
Life, and the world, and mine own self, are changed  
For a dream's sake.

He'd fled through the trees, forcing his pursuers to chase him on foot. They assumed Sharova was dead. Eric knew he was alive, or at least he had been when he checked his pulse, getting some blood on the unconscious man's sleeve. Sharova's only chance of surviving was if the police found him before the Russians did, which could only happen if Eric left him there, drawing away the three men who'd chased them as they sped away from the armory.

It was past sunset. The darkness would be safer. They weren't behind him anymore. He found a concealed spot and for the first time took a look at the injury to his arm. It was superficial. The bullet had barely grazed his biceps. Already it had almost stopped bleeding.

It hurt less, far less, than the look. She'd seen him. Recognized him - he'd seen that in her eyes. She knew he'd lied to her, lied point-blank to her face.

She would never forgive him.

Then an even worse thought occurred to him, a thought that shot through him like a bolt of lightning: he'd fled in the middle of a shoot-out; she had seen him, becoming distracted by his presence. He didn't know what happened after that. Had she been shot? Had she...

His breathing became ragged, and hot tears dripped down his cheeks. He had to keep going. He had to know she was safe. If she was dead because of him, he didn't care if he lived or died.

Ki no Tomonori,_ Gosenshu _372:

I cry aloud, though not the stricken hart  
Whose mate is lost among the autumn mists.


	16. Love, Lies, Bleeding, Part II

Sources: _The Ode Less Travelled_, Stephen Fry; _Only Companion, _trans. Sam Hamill; _One Hundred Poems from the Japanese_

Author's note: Has it occurred to anyone else that "Sharova" is a feminine version of a Russian name? I mean, I don't actually know Russian, so I could be wrong, but it just sounds weird every time I hear it.

Dorothy Parker, "Rondeau Redoublé (and Scarcely Worth the Trouble at That)":

The same to me are somber days and gay.  
Though joyous dawns the rosy morn, and bright,  
Because my dearest love is gone away  
Within my heart is melancholy night.

My heart beats low in loneliness, despite  
That riotous Summer holds the earth in sway.  
In cerements my spirit is bedight;  
The same to me are somber days and gay.

Though breezes in the rippling grasses play,  
And waves dash high and far in glorious might,  
I thrill no longer to the sparkling day,  
Though joyous dawns the rosy morn, and bright.

Ungraceful seems to me the swallow's flight;  
As well might Heaven's blue be sullen gray;  
My soul discerns no beauty in their sight  
Because my dearest love is gone away.

Let roses fling afar their crimson spray,  
And virgin daisies splash the fields with white,  
Let bloom the poppy hotly as it may,  
Within my heart is melancholy night.

And this, oh love, my pitiable plight  
Whenever from my circling arms you stray;  
This little world of mine has lost its light...  
I hope to God, my dear, that you can say  
The same to me.

By the time Calleigh arrived at the station, she had recovered her composure. There was a bitter cold edge to her countenance.

Frank Tripp saw her enter. "You here to talk to the suspect?" He meant Sharova, of course. As far as he was concerned, the Russian mobster was responsible for Eric's disappearance whether he did it himself or not.

"Could I talk to him alone Frank? Without anyone looking in?"

"That's against regulations."

"Damn the regulations," she replied flatly.

Tripp frowned. "Can't say I don't share your sentiments. Me and my guys are gonna grab a cup of coffee. Whatever happens happens." He nodded to the two uniformed officers standing by. They followed him. When one of their own was in danger, there was a lot cops were willing to turn a blind eye to.

When Calleigh entered the interrogation room Sharova felt like the temperature dropped a few degrees. She stiffly took the seat across the table from him. "Where is he?" she asked.

"Like I told you before: I woke up, he was gone."

"Cut the crap, Sharova. If you know anything that can help us find him, you had better tell me now."

"Even if I knew, I would never turn in my own son for only trying to help me."

She leaped to her feet and slammed her palms on the table. "You tried to have your own son killed!"

Sharova flinched, fear in his eyes.

Realizing she'd lost control of her temper, Calleigh reined it in and continued more quietly, though she didn't sit down and she didn't back away. "I don't know how he could forgive you for that, how he could cast aside his own responsibilities, his own _friends_, to help you. But he did." The last three words were spoken more to herself than to him as she suddenly realized her anger toward Sharova wasn't just because of what he did to Eric, but because Eric had given him a chance in spite of it - had lied to her to help the man he barely knew, just because he was his biological father. It hurt her that Eric had chosen his father over her. It indicated he hadn't loved her as much as she thought. But the light of the revelation vaporized her petty anger. "I just want to make sure he's safe," she said quietly, desperate and defeated.

"I can't help you."

"I'm not asking you to help me. Help _him. _Anything you remember. You know names. You know how they operate. You might be the only one who can help him now."

They looked at each other across the table. Calleigh had no idea how much Eric might have told this man about her, and Sharova wasn't convinced the CSI wanted to find Eric to help him rather than to bring him to justice.

He looked at her a moment longer before saying, "You may be right." He leaned forward. "What can you offer for my cooperation?"

Calleigh glared at him in disgust. "Your son is in danger, and you want to talk deal? What you get is the chance to do the right thing, to save the life of a good man, a hero..."

"If I help you," Sharova interrupted her sharply, "do you promise to make sure nothing happens to my son for trying to get me out? If he goes to prison he's as good as dead, and I know his job means so much to him."

"I promise," she answered earnestly. "I swear on my life, I won't let anything happen to him."

Sharova watched her carefully, maybe for signs of deceit, but maybe for something else.

"We can get you into witness protection." She wasn't technically in a position to make an offer, but there were a lot of people who owed her favors, and she was willing to pull as many strings as she had to.

"I don't think you understand exactly how little I have to lose. Say I disappear, the people after me are spiteful; they'll go after Eric. Are you willing to let him disappear too?"

She hesitated. She wanted him back. Even if he never forgave her, she wanted him back in the lab where she could see him and know he was safe. If he went into the witness protection program, he would be safe but she might never see him again. But if that's what it took to find him... "Yes," she managed to say.

"I'll give you a list of names of the people I know, but I want a promise of immunity from your DA for myself and Eric."

Calleigh put a pen and notepad in front of him. "You'll have it."

As he began to write, someone knocked on the window. She went out to find Horatio waiting for her. She didn't say anything, just looked at him expectantly.

"I doubt that was the outcome Frank was expecting when he agreed to look the other way," Horatio commented.

"I didn't know what I would've done if he hadn't agreed to help," she explained. She added more quietly, "And I didn't know what he might say about Eric's involvement."

He nodded. "I'll call the DA."

Princess Yoza, _Manyoshu _59, trans. Sam Hamill:

Now the nights grow cold  
and cold winds return to howl.  
With you gone,  
my whole life is torn by winds.  
I wonder: Do you sleep alone?

It wasn't the best neighborhood. Eric figured, as he bought a black jacket at a corner store, that with his bloodstained shirt and reddened eyes people were probably mistaking him for a druggie. He'd left his cellphone behind when he went to help Sharova because he was afraid someone might track him through it, and he was now seriously regretting that decision.

"Do you have a phone I could use?" he asked the cashier as he pulled on his new jacket.

"Yeah. What's the number?"

"Three oh five, five five five..." Eric stopped abruptly when he saw two men enter the store. One of them he recognized as one of the mobsters who'd followed him from the armory shoot-out. The other he didn't recognize, but looked like he belonged to the same crowd. "Never mind. Do you have a back door to this place? I'm a cop." He furtively uncovered his badge.

"That way. Past the restroom sign," she said quietly, pointing.

The man from earlier pointed at Eric, and they broke into a run. Eric dashed out through the narrow hallway and into the filthy alley behind the row of buildings. He knocked over a garbage in his rush. A bullet ricocheted off the brick wall. Eric ducked and darted into the street. A car honked furiously as it swerved to avoid him. On the other side of the road, he risked a glance back. The two men were still there, guns down as they glared at the traffic. One of them was talking on a cellphone. Eric sprinted down the next street, running between condemned buildings and slum apartments. To his dismay, this road came to a dead-end. He hid underneath a large truck, moving as far out of sight as he could and trying to get his breathing under control. He closed his eyes and pictured Calleigh. He would give anything to hold her in his arms again.

He heard them. One of them told the other, in Russian, that he had to be there somewhere.

He wanted to write a final message. But he didn't have any pen or paper to write with.

His hands felt in his pockets, searching for anything he could use. His fingers closed around the receipt for the jacket. If it was thermal paper, he might be able to scratch out a brief message on it. He knew that thermal paper has a chemical coating on one side that turns black when heated. Because pressure creates heat, pressing something against it hard enough allows it to be written on.

Using his wallet as a backboard, he pressed a piece of gravel across the paper. It left a black line.

"Calleigh," he wrote in large, sloppy letters, "forgive me."

The two mobsters passed him down the alley, but he could hear another car park further up. It could have been their backup.

He considered his next words. There wasn't much room. _If you find this, it means I'm dead..._ Considering she'd find it on his body, that would be unnecessarily obvious. _I'm just glad it was me instead of you._ He wanted to leave her with something that told her how much he loved her, while at the same time easing her grief. He wanted to write something that would make her smile through her tears, like a rainbow shining against a storm cloud. _In spite of everything I've been through in my life, and however it ends, I consider myself lucky, because I knew you. I'm so lucky to have loved you, and to have you find me diverting. _He was thinking of the time she called him her new diversion. Considering that some of their warmest moments were tinged with humor, it seemed appropriate to end with a joke. But would she get it? Besides, there probably wasn't enough room.

His improvised writing instrument moved again. "I count my life as happy because you were in it."

_You mean everything to me. I'm not sure I could live without you. I know I wouldn't want to. There's so much more I wish I could say to you._

"I love you. You know that."

There was only room for a few more words. He thought about telling her to give a message to his family, or Horatio, but he couldn't think of anything he could say to them in such little space. He had no material possessions of significant value, so leaving a will was pointless. If he died, he wanted his last words to be for the one he loved most. He knew he'd hurt her by lying to her and helping his father. He needed to make it right, make her know that never for a moment did he stop thinking of her, hating himself for hurting her, for letting her down.

"Yours always, Eric."

That was all.

Flashlight beams swept across the shadows between buildings and cars. There were five or six of them now.

He folded up the note and slipped it into his left shirt pocket, right over his heart.

Izumi Shikibu, trans. Kenneth Rexroth:

Will I cease to be,  
Or will I remember  
Beyond the world,  
Our last meeting together?


	17. Love, Lies, Bleeding, Part III

Sources: 2001 Waka website; _A Study of Poetry; Tales of Ise_

Ki no Tsurayuki, _Kokinshu _1103:

'This is when he came,' I think  
still full of longing;  
in the evening gloom  
the image of his face alone  
is all I can see.

Earlier the day had been sunny and hot. Clouds had rolled in from the ocean shortly after sunset, and now wind rattled against the windows.

"I was looking for you."

Calleigh didn't turn around at Horatio's voice. "It's raining," she said with the calmness that sometimes comes in the face of tragedy. "It's going to make it harder for the scent dogs to track him."

"Every police officer in the city is looking for Eric. We'll find him." He stepped beside her, noting the tears that she didn't bother to wipe away. "The Russians at the armory heist got away with dozens of large-caliber weapons. Some of the names Sharova gave us are connected with a construction contract for an office building. Last month, construction on that building was temporarily suspended due to the economy."

She turned to him, eyebrow raised. "Abandoned construction sight: sounds like a good place to hide a few dozen guns."

"My thoughts exactly. Sharova said he might be able to help find them."

"Let me guess: he wants to go there himself."

"Uh huh," Horatio confirmed. "In fact, he's demanding it."

"You trust him?"

"With Eric's life on the line, we can't afford to refuse help wherever it comes from."

"If they have him," she said, "and they see cops..."

"The situation could get very dangerous."

"I'm going," she stated.

"I don't want you putting yourself in danger."

She looked at him. Horatio rarely showed his feelings, but Eric was family, and after suffering so many close losses in the past few years, losing Eric would hurt him as much as it hurt her. "But you want Eric back, and you know I'll do anything to make that happen. That's why you're telling me about it."

"You understand this can't be officially authorized. We won't have a warrant for the building until morning."

"I understand."

He nodded to her and slipped her the address.

Minutes later, Calleigh spotted Sharova in the lobby.

He stood when he saw her. "Lieutenant Caine told me to wait here, for you," he said. "Are we going to find Eric?"

She simply stepped passed him. "Come on."

Stephen Crane:

Love walked alone.  
The rocks cut her tender feet,  
And the brambles tore her fair limbs.  
There came a companion to her,  
But, alas, he was no help,  
For his name was heart's pain.

"You were right, what you said before," Sharova said as Calleigh drove through the night streets. "I did try to kill my own son. What was I supposed to do? A police officer taking a personal interest in a man like me, a man with my history? But since I've come to know him, I have regretted it more than you know. He is such a decent, honorable man, the kind of man anyone would be proud to have for a son. I sometimes have trouble believing he's related to me."

"That makes two of us," Calleigh quipped.

"I can't blame you for hating me, but you must believe I want to help him as much as you do."

"I'll tell you what I do believe: you mean something to Eric, so I'm going to give you a chance, but I don't trust you. Keep that in mind, because if you even think about betraying us it will be the last thing you ever do."

"Understood."

They parked across the street from the deserted construction site, a steel skeleton of a building with floors and stairs but no outer walls.

"If this is where they brought the guns, there should be someone guarding it," Calleigh said.

"There will be. Just because we don't see them doesn't mean they don't see us."

She looked at him. If he was lying, if he was still working with the Russians, then going in there with him was certain death.

"We should circle around back," he said. "Stay away from the streetlights."

She followed him. At the far corner of the block, they climbed over the fence, then made their way toward the building, keeping out of sight in shadows as much as possible. Calleigh had her gun out. It struck her as painfully ironic that she'd warned Eric not to break the law and risk his life to save his father, but here she was breaking the law and risking her life to save him.

The building seemed as empty up close as it had from the street. Silently, the two distrustful allies ascended the bare stairs until from somewhere above they heard voices and movement.

"Stay here," Calleigh whispered, then started up the latest flight of stairs with her gun out in front of her. She had no intention of confronting whoever she found. Once she confirmed this was where the stolen guns were stockpiled, she would call for backup. Unless they had Eric.

The next floor looked just as dark and empty as the ones below, but she had a feeling it wasn't. It took her a moment to realize why she was sure they were close: the faint scent on gunpowder mingled with the thick smell of Florida rain.

She made her way deeper into the building, and then she stepped through a door and there they were: crates and crates of weapons. But no guards.

While one hand went for her cellphone, the other slowly swept her ready gun around the room.

And there, suddenly, at the door, a gun pointing back at her. She could barely make out the face behind it in the dimness of the light that managed to echo its way this far in the unfinished building. He was young with black hair and a sneer. She stilled, her thumb ready to dial, the barrel of the gun fixed on the man's head. "I'm a cop," she said.

"That's a very stupid thing to admit," he replied in a light Russian accent.

"How did you find this place?" asked a new voice from behind her.

She glanced quickly at the other man, also holding a gun. "We figured it out," she said. "Even if you shoot me, it's already too late for you."

"Then it's also too late for you." He took out his own phone and began dialing.

In the next four seconds, the first man swung his gun around, the second grunted as Sharova's fists connected with the back of his head. His phone clattered to the ground. A gunshot flashed like lightning, for an instant illuminating the room, another followed it like thunder and the younger Russian fell to the floor with Calleigh's bullet in his head.

The other man turned around, hitting Sharova with his gun. They struggled. The man with the gun said something in Russian that sounded uncomplimentary. Sharova replied, "You don't know the meaning of loyalty, Fyodor."

Calleigh tried to aim at the man called Fyodor, but didn't dare take the shot with Sharova that close.

That was when she saw a dark gap in the floor next to them, an open elevator shaft. "Look out!"

The Russian had remembered the shaft. With a grunt of effort he shoved Sharova toward it. The older man grabbed his sleeve as he stumbled backward. Losing their footing, first Sharova, then Fyodor slipped into the abyss.

"No!" Calleigh cried out, lunging forward as Sharova's hands clawed for purchase on the swiftly receding floor. She grabbed his wrist and braced herself.

A sickening slap reverberated up the shaft as the mobster's body landed several stories below.

"Grab my hand," Calleigh ordered.

Sharova shook his head. "I could pull you down with me."

Calleigh's mind flashed back to losing a witness in a situation exactly like this. There was no way she would let that happen again. "Just do it, dammit!"

He swung his body up and grabbed onto her wrist. She combined her momentum with his and fell backward, pulling him out of the shaft. For a moment she rested, panting from the physical exertion.

Sharova stared at her. "Thank you. You saved my life."

"Don't thank me." She forced herself to her feet. "I did it for Eric." She dialed Horatio's number. "Hey. We found the guns, but he's not here... I'm fine. Send a team to secure the site... There are two. I shot one, the other fell..."

As she was talking, Sharova picked up the phone Fyodor had dropped. A moment later, he turned toward her. "We have to go now," he said urgently

Calleigh followed him to the stairs. "Why? What is it?"

"There should have been more men guarding this place. I suspected the others were out looking for someone, and I was right. A text message was sent a few minutes ago. Eric was seen, not far from here. If they had caught him or killed him, the hunt would have been called of with another message."

"So he's alive," Calleigh whispered.

"Not for long if they catch up to him before we do."

Anonymous_, Kokinshu _867:

Because of a single  
Murasaki plant  
I look with affection  
On all the grasses  
Of Musashi plain.


	18. Love, Lies, Bleeding, Part IV

Author's note: I got a hundred reviews! That was one of my secret goals for this story; I've never gotten a hundred reviews before. Thank you, reviewers! (Especially emilypfaan for being #100)

Sources: _The Tale of Genji; Tales of Ise; Birdsong; Great Short Poems_

Anonymous, _Kokinshu_ 97:

We may be sure that the cherries will come again.  
If we wish to see them we have but to stay alive.

It had to be after midnight. Eric was soaked with rain, and more fatigued than he could remember ever being before in his life. His arm ached, and he was pretty sure it was bleeding again.

He'd taken a chance and run from his hiding place when the people after him had gotten too close. Shots were fired, but none hit him. He'd escaped over a fence and through a park. But he knew they were still looking. He'd seen cars driving slowly up and down the roads near his location. He was being hunted like a game animal.

He stopped to rest, concealed in a row of thick bushes. Across the street was an empty parking lot. On the far side of it he saw a payphone. He would have to cross a large, well-lit open space to reach it, and then find somewhere to hide, but it seemed like his best bet.

He ran across the street. As soon as he reached the parking lot a bullet ricocheted off the pavement in front of him. He instinctively hit the ground, his gun out, and started firing back.

There were at least three of them. They were too far to get an accurate shot, but they were getting closer fast. He got to his feet and started running, giving up his plan to reach the phone.

A dark car screeched into the parking lot. The driver's window rolled down and a gun came out. With the driver in the car and the people behind him, Eric knew he didn't stand a chance. This was it.

But the car swerved and slowed to block him from the three shooters. The driver opened fire on them. One of them fell, hit, and the other two darted out of the way. The car's back door opened. Alexander Sharova looked out at him.

"Get in!" he shouted.

Eric jumped into the car, slamming the door closed, and immediately the driver stopped shooting and accelerated away.

It took a moment for Eric to process what just happened. The first thing he saw was the driver's pale blond hair. "Calleigh."

She glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes met his. Her face in the feeble light looked tired and worn, and was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Her expression was intense but unreadable. "You okay?" she asked quickly.

Sharova noted the way they looked at each other; it deepened his growing suspicion that there was more between them than a professional relationship.

"Fine," Eric managed to say, unable to take his eyes away from her.

She turned her attention back to the road and took out her cellphone. "Horatio, I have him."

_"Is he alright?"_

"Looks like it, but I want to get him checked out at the hospital."

_"You might want to avoid hospitals until we know the coast is clear."_

"No hospitals," Sharova interjected. "They will be watched."

"His dad just said the same thing," Calleigh told Horatio.

_"Keep out of sight. Don't risk going home. Make sure you're not followed and check into a hotel. I'll call you when we round up the people on the list."_

"Right."

_"And Calleigh, I know I don't need to tell you to take care of Eric, but Sharova is going to be our star witness, so it would be appreciated if you could keep him alive as well."_

"I'll see what I can do," she replied with a slight smile.

_"May I speak with Eric?"_

"Of course." She handed the phone behind her. "Horatio wants to talk to you."

He took the phone. "Hey H."

"_Eric,_" the relief was evident in his voice. "_How are you?_"

"I'm alive, which is better than I was expecting a minute ago."

"_Okay. I want you to stay that way. We're in the process of arresting the people behind the robbery at the armory. You and Sharova are both witnesses, so I want you to stay out of sight until we've worked this out. Can you do that?_"

He smiled at Horatio's concern. "Yeah, I got it."

"_Get some rest. I'll see you later._"

"I will. And H...thank you." He closed the phone and noticed that Calleigh was watching him in her rear-view mirror. Then she looked back at the road ahead.

_Tales of Ise_ 107:

I have been powerless to gauge  
The measure of your love,  
But harder and harder  
Falls the rain  
That must reveal the truth.

Two a.m. found Eric sitting on the edge of the tub in a hotel bathroom, his head resting on his fists, his elbows on his knees. He was too tired and emotionally drained to summon the willpower to move.

The door creaked open, and then softly closed. He raised his head to see Calleigh, looking apologetic. "Are you okay?" She tentatively stepped toward him, then stopped. "Your dad's asleep. He was out like a light." She was nervous. Neither of them presumed their relationship had been unaffected by the events of the day.

"I will be too, soon." He hesitated. The hotel room had two beds and a recliner. He wasn't sure she'd want to share a bed with him, but he was afraid to suggest she didn't.

"I'll take the sofa," she offered haltingly.

"No, I will. You can have the other bed."

"I'm going to insist you take the bed. You're the injured one." She bit her lip, looking at the black jacket on the floor, and then at the blood on the sleeve of his shirt.

"It's not that bad," he said, following her eyes so he wouldn't have to meet them.

"May I look at it?" she requested so contritely it sounded like a favor she was afraid to ask for and didn't think he would grant.

"Of course." He started to unbutton his shirt, but he winced from the pain in his right arm.

She was at his side in a moment. "Here. Let me." Her fingers went to work on his buttons. He let her. "I called Horatio to tell him we made it. He was still awake, but I made him promise to get some sleep now."

He laughed, but it was as quiet and awkward as her words had been. Then he said solemnly, "I thought I'd never see you again."

"Sorry to disappoint you," she tried to joke.

He forced himself to smile, but it hurt. He might have given in to the tears he felt if he hadn't been distracted by the fluttery touch of Calleigh's fingers on his chest.

They were avoiding eye contact. Each wondered the same thing: After everything that happened, the deception and the shootout, where did they stand? Their romance was still so new, so untried...each was afraid they had ruined their chance.

"Your dad was a big help in finding you," Calleigh admitted, risking the briefest of glances at his face. "I think maybe he really cares about you."

Eric was touched by even such a vague hint of cordiality between the woman he loved and the father he was trying to get to know. "Thank you," he said quietly.

She carefully slid off his shirt, setting it on the floor. She bit her lip as she examined the blood caked on his arm. She washed her hands and dampened a washcloth with warm water, and gently began to clean off the blood so she could get a look at the actual wound.

"He told me, while you were booking the room," Eric said, "that you saved his life."

She smiled and shrugged dismissively. "I wouldn't go that far. We did run into a little bit of a situation when we were out looking for you, but we had each other's backs and got out of it just fine."

"That sounds like one of your understatements." He smiled back, and a pleasant warmth spread over his lips merely from sharing a smile with her.

Her smile faded as she thought about the people who had died because of her that day. Including the shootout at the armory, she wasn't even sure how many there were. She hated the thought of ending even the lives of criminals trying to kill her.

Eric saw the regret that came over her, and figured it had something to do with what happened. He would find out all the details later, and didn't need to press her about it now.

She finished cleaning off his wound and began to dab it dry carefully so as not to make it bleed again or hurt him more than necessary.

"I told you it wasn't that bad," he commented.

She didn't reply. The bullet had only grazed him. It should have had stitches, but would probably heal without complications. Her fingers traced around the wound, barely touching his skin. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"No, I'm sorry." He looked down.

"I shot you and you're the one apologizing? When was I elected Vice President?" She joked even as she fought back tears, which gathered like gems of dew on her eyelashes.

Her tendency to use humor to blunt the emotional intensity of serious situations was a coping mechanism shared by many CSIs, as well as other high-stakes professions, such as cops and doctors. Her sense of humor was one of the things Eric loved about her. His hand flexed toward her, but then stilled. He had an overwhelming desire to touch her, but wasn't sure he had the right to. "I should never have lied to you," he said. "It's my fault."

"No." She finally looked at him. "I knew you would help your father. I never should have asked you not to. It was selfish of me. I mean, he's your dad, and I'm just your..." She trailed off, not sure what she was to him now.

"Is that what you were thinking? Cal...I didn't tell you because you're the only one who could talk me out of it, and if something happened to my father when I could have helped him, I'm not sure what that would do to me. I had no idea it would go so far."

"I shot you."

Her hand rested on his biceps, as though forgotten there, even though they were both acutely aware of the touch.

"It's okay," he assured her after several heartbeats passed in silence.

They were looking at each other now, searching for answers to the question they were both afraid to ask.

"Calleigh..." He broke eye contact as he finally asked it, quietly, his breathing shaky. "Did I lose you?"

Her hands slid around his shoulder as she pulled him against her. His arms encircled her waist reflexively.

"Never," she gasped when she could breathe again. "Eric, not for a moment."

He stroked her back, feeling her heartbeat, taking comfort and reassurance from her embrace.

"I was so scared," she whispered.

"I know." He brushed his lips against her hair. He never wanted to let her go.

She backed away to look at him. "You know I love you, right?"

He wrapped his hand around hers and kissed it, then reached down, picked up his bloodstained shirt, and dug his improvised note out of the pocket.

"I wrote this, just in case...I didn't make it."

She took it from him and read the large, haphazard words written around the margin of the receipt. "Calleigh, forgive me. I count my life as happy because you were in it. I love you. You know that. Yours always, Eric."

She smiled, holding the note against her chest. "Eric...I was going to forgive you anyway."

He caressed her cheeks and ran his fingers through her hair. She leaned closer to him. He slowly molded his lips against hers. She wrapped her arms around his back, one hand still clutching the note, and pressed herself against him. Their lips parted as the kiss intensified.

When it ended, Calleigh rested her forehead on his. "You're exhausted."

"Yeah," he admitted.

"Come on." She slipped her arm under his. "I'll tuck you in."

"I won't say no to that." They kissed once more, then went to bed.

Rumi:

When you come back inside my chest,  
no matter how far I've wandered off,  
I look around and see the way.

At the end of my life, with just one breath  
left, if you come then, I'll sit up and sing.

Late the next morning, Eric woke up with the pleasant feeling of Calleigh in his arms. He was vaguely aware of a pain in his right arm, but didn't for a moment remember or care what it was from. It wasn't until he blinked his eyes open that he realized he wasn't in Calleigh's bed, and there was a moment of disorientation before he remembered where he was, and what had happened. He heard the shower running.

He closed his eyes again and hugged Calleigh closer. She rewarded him with a contented sigh.

"How long have you been awake?" he asked into her hair.

"A few minutes, but I didn't want to move." She turned in his arms to face him. "Sleep well?"

He smiled and kissed her forehead. "Very."

"Good." Her fingers trailed across his chest and shoulder. "How's the arm?"

"Fine. I can honestly say out of all the gunshot wounds I've ever had, this one's definitely my favorite."

She laughed. "Let's hope it's your last." Her fingers drifted over his lips.

"You know," he said, "I never told Sharova about us."

"I'm guessing he's figured it out."

A troubled frown shadowed his eyes as he gazed at her. He had been terrified of Sharova or someone else associated with the Russian Mob finding out about his relationship with Calleigh. It could put her in danger. If he lost her the way Horatio lost Marisol, he didn't know how he could keep going. He wasn't as strong as Horatio, or Calleigh.

She guessed what he was thinking about. "Hey," she said, "from now on, whatever happens, we're in it together, okay?"

He smiled a dreamy, crooked smile. "Deal."

She smiled back, that subtle, secretive smile that was his alone, then kissed him quickly and climbed out of bed to make coffee.

Sharova emerged from the bathroom moments later. "Good morning," he said to them. "I trust you slept well."

Later that day, while Eric and his father stayed concealed in the hotel room, Calleigh went out shopping. Since none of the mobsters who'd seen her with them had lived to tell about it, it was unlikely anyone would be looking for her. She bought extra clothes for all of them, basic supplies, and board games to keep them occupied while they hid out. That night they risked a brief appearance in public to have dinner at the hotel's restaurant. The next day, Horatio called to tell them everyone involved in the armory shootout was dead or behind bars, and it was safe for Sharova and Eric to come out of hiding. Sharova was delivered into the witness protection program. After spending a few hours filing reports at the lab, Calleigh got Eric checked out at the hospital, then took him home.

John Banister Tabb, "Evolution"

Out of the dusk a shadow,  
Then, a spark;  
Out of the cloud a silence,  
Then, a lark;  
Our of the heart a rapture,  
Then, a pain;  
Out of the dead, cold ashes,  
Life again.


	19. Circuit

Sources: _The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson_, ed. Thomas H. Johnson; _The Classic Tradition of Haiku: An Anthology_, ed. Faubion Bowrs

Chronology: pre-Season 1

Emily Dickinson:

Tell all the Truth but tell it slant -  
Success in Circuit lies  
Too bright for our infirm Delight  
The Truth's superb surprise  
As Lightning to the Children eased  
With explanation kind  
The Truth must dazzle gradually  
Or every man be blind -

"Just remember that you know your stuff and the jury doesn't. You don't have to educate them, you just have to convince them they can trust the evidence," Speedle advised.

Eric tugged his necktie. "Were you nervous your first time?"

Calleigh fixed the damage he'd done to his tie. "Sometimes I'm still nervous testifying, but Speed's right. How the evidence is processed, telling the jury how we know what we know, is just a small part of the trial. A lot of the time, the defense doesn't even cross-examine you."

"And we'll be in the courtroom supporting you," Speedle reminded him.

"I'm not sure if that will make it better or worse."

"You'll do fine," Calleigh smiled.

Eric concentrated on not fidgeting with his tie while he sat in the courtroom, waiting for the prosecuting attorney to call him to the stand. When he did, he glanced back at Speed and Calleigh, who gave him an encouraging smile.

He took the seat and was sworn in.

The prosecutor asked him a few standard questions about where the fingerprint labeled "Exhibit C" had been recovered, and how it had been processed.

At least he would provide some nice eye candy for the women on the jury while he explained the technical details, Calleigh thought to herself. She was sure the newest CSI would do just fine.

"Would the defense like to cross-examine the witness?" the judge inquired.

The defense attorney rose smoothly to her high-heeled feet. "Yes we would, your honor." She approached the stand. Anna Bellerose was a young lawyer who had moved to Miami only within the past few months. She was tall and pale, with red-brown hair pulled back in a harsh french braid and small, wide-set eyes. "Mr. Delko," she began, "you testified that you found the fingerprint on the barrel of the gun after exposing the gun to vaporized cyanoacrylate ester, which reacted with the latent print on the gun to make it visible."

"Yes," he answered hesitantly, wondering why she was essentially repeating an abbreviated version of what he'd just said.

"You then lifted the print using a special tape to preserve it?"

"Yes."

"And a photograph of this print is now in the courtroom for the jury's scrutiny?"

"Yes."

"And this was the only print you found at the scene?"

"No, but it was the only print we found on the murder weapon."

"And did any of the other prints found at the scene of the crime match my client?"

"No."

"Mr. Delko, the murder weapon is in the courtroom now, labeled Exhibit A. I don't see a fingerprint on it."

"That's because the process of lifting the print removes it from the surface it's originally found on," he explained.

"I see. So, we have only your word that the fingerprint in Exhibit C is the same one you found on the gun?"

He took a deep breath before answering. "The chain of evidence was meticulously documented."

"So that's a yes?"

"Objection!" the prosecuting attorney said.

"Sustained," said the judge. "Ms. Bellerose, please refrain from editorializing the witness' testimony."

Someone on the jury chuckled.

"My apologies, your honor," she said. "Mr. Delko, the sample fingerprints provided by my client are clear, distinct, and complete. The one recovered from the gun doesn't look a thing like them. It's patchy and blurry. How can you so confidently testify that it came from my client's left index finger?"

"It was a partial print, but there were enough points of comparison to confirm the fingerprint belongs to the defendant."

"How many points of comparison were there, Mr. Delko?"

He was becoming irritated and unnerved by her repeated use of his last name, which was probably her goal. "I matched eight minutiae," he responded.

"Eight. That doesn't sound like very many."

"It's three more than the required minimum, enough for a positive identification."

"How positive?"

Eric's eyebrow furled. "I don't understand the question."

"Let me rephrase. You are a certified fingerprint analyst. How extensive was your training?"

"Objection. The witness's credentials have already been established."

"I'll allow it," the judge said thoughtfully.

Eric answered. "The certification process requires a year and a half of training in how to identify fingerprint characteristics."

"Does this training include factoring in the population frequencies of specific fingerprint minutiae?"

"No."

Calleigh heard Speedle take a sharp breath. She glanced at him; he looked just as unhappy about the direction the questions were going as she was.

"So how do you know the fingerprint matches my client's?"

"Fingerprint characteristics are unique. There's no way that print could have come from someone else."

"If fingerprint details are so individual, why do you have to match five? Why not just, say, three? Or one?"

"Because the fewer points you compare," Eric said, starting to feel a little frantic, "the more likely it is to get a false match."

"So it _is _possible to get a false identification from fingerprints?" she pressed.

Eric couldn't resist glancing at Speedle and Calleigh. Their expressions were carefully blank. "Not if you have enough points of comparison."

"Mr. Delko, are you saying that in the history of the use of fingerprints as forensic tools, there have been _no _false convictions based on fingerprint evidence?"

He couldn't bring himself to answer for a moment. "I can't testify to that," he finally said.

"Isn't it true that there have, in fact, been dozens of _known _cases of wrongful conviction based on fingerprint evidence?"

"I can't testify to that," he repeated.

"You can't testify to that? How long have you been working as a fingerprint analyst, Mr. Delko?"

"I object!" the prosecutor shouted.

"Withdrawn. Let me put it another way: if all fingerprints are unique, how can false convictions on fingerprint matches happen? You can testify to _that_, can't you?"

There was laughter from the jury box.

The prosecutor objected again. "Relevance?"

"I think the reliability of the forensic procedures upon which the case against my client is built are quite relevant. Or is forensic evidence a sacred cow that we're not allowed even to question?"

"The witness may answer the question," the judge determined.

Eric swallowed. "Some fingerprints details can be similar in appearance. If analysis isn't done carefully, it's possible for misidentification to occur."

"So, mistaken fingerprint identification _can _occur, but only if the analyst is, perhaps, lazy, or fraudulent, or...inexperienced?"

"Objection! The witness is not qualified to speculate on hypothetical situations."

"People have been wrongly imprisoned on fingerprint evidence. That is not hypothetical," Bellerose argued. "And as a fingerprint expert who testifies that this fingerprint implicates my client, I would like to hear Mr. Delko explain to the jury why that can't be the case in this instance."

"Objection sustained," said the judge.

"Mr. Delko, just so we can be reassured you have sufficient experience to accurately determine the identity of that fingerprint, can you tell us how long you've been working as a fingerprint analyst?"

"In my time with the Miami-Dade crime lab I haven't made a single misidentification..."

"That isn't what I asked."

Eric glanced at the jury, then at the judge. "This is my third month." He was wishing he could crawl under a rock and die.

"And yet you are sure that the fingerprint found on the gun belongs to my client?"

"Yes. All of the points I compared were identical."

Speedle winced.

"Identical? But isn't it true that, with the elasticity of human skin and the dissimilar textures and contours of different surfaces, it's impossible for any two fingerprints to match perfectly?"

"A fingerprint analyst is trained to take those conditions into consideration. The eight minutiae I compared were the same. They came from the same finger."

"And it's completely impossible for two people to have the same eight tiny details on a small stretch of skin?"

"It's extremely improbable," he answered. Something tickled at his lip.

"How improbably?"

Eric looked to the prosecutor, who was staring at him tensely.

"How improbably _exactly, _Mr. Delko? One in a thousand? One in ten?"

"I don't know."

"That's right," she smiled as though she'd just won a game. She turned to the jury. "There have been no empirical studies to determine the accuracy of fingerprint identification. Zero. Isn't it true, Mr. Delko, that the assertion that no two people have identical fingerprints is nothing more than an unverified assumption?"

"It's a lot more accurate than you make it sound!" Eric said defensively. "I don't know the exact statistical probability for two people to have eight minutiae exactly alike on exactly the same points on a finger _and _have no visible differences, but I can tell you for sure that what I got off that gun came from Mr. Moran's left index finger."

"And you know that how? Because it _looked _the same?"

"Objection. Leading."

"Withdrawn. I have no more questions for this witness."

"We'll break for a fifteen-minute recess," the judge said, glancing at Eric.

As he hurried away from the witness stand, Eric lifted his finger to his lip and brought it away with blood on it. He didn't see Calleigh and Speedle hurrying to intercept him.

"Are you okay?" Calleigh asked.

"Yeah. This used to happen to me during finals." He took the tissue she handed to him to clean his nosebleed. He wouldn't meet their eyes.

"Hey, you did fine," Speedle assured him.

He shook his head. "No. I did terrible."

"Don't beat yourself up over it," Calleigh said, nudging him with her elbow. "It was your first time. Besides, I don't think the jury likes Bellerose very much."

"Thanks. Really reassuring," he replied sarcastically.

"She's right, you know," Speedle said. "No matter how much evidence we gather, or how we present it, ultimately it all depends on the jury."

The jury found the defendant guilty after a couple of days of deliberation. But Eric would never forget the sting of his first court testimony.

Takarai Kikaku, trans. William J Higginson:

the lightning...  
yesterday in the east  
today in the west


	20. Yagate Shinu

Sources: Basho; _The Tale of Genji._

Chronology: "10-7" post-ep

Basho:

Nothing indicates  
it is soon to die:  
the cicada's voice.

No sound had ever stuck in her head like the click of the gun that killed John.

Calleigh could still hear it in her head. She could feel it, a metallic lump stuck in her throat.

It hadn't felt right, being at his funeral. She kept thinking about remorseful killers attending their victims' services. She had to keep reminding herself she hadn't killed him; she was not responsible for his death. His suicide was not her fault.

The hot breeze wafted across the deep green grass of the cemetery. The sprawling trees glowed green with the afternoon sun. The scent of the fresh dirt mingled with the fragrance of grass and flowers. The sounds of birds and insects and passing cars filled the air.

It would have felt even more wrong if she hadn't been at the funeral. She traced her fingers across the name etched in the gravestone. Detective John Hagen. How was she supposed to feel? John had meant a lot to her. He had to know what it would do to her to watch him die like that. Why did he hate her so much? She kept wondering about his last thoughts, but part of her was trying desperately not to. She hadn't cried. She rarely did at funerals, but this time she wondered what it said about her that she hadn't cried.

It had been a strange funeral. It seemed as though people had avoided looking at each other. At least it felt like people avoided looking at her.

She didn't hear approaching footsteps on the soft grass. Nothing hinted at the presence of someone behind her. It was over a minute before the person chose to speak. "Calleigh?"

She jolted and turned around, looking up into Horatio's sympathetic face. He'd been at the funeral, but had left hours ago, along with everyone else, including her. She'd returned because she couldn't think of anything else to do, anywhere else to be but here. "I'm fine," she said, anticipating his concern.

He knew that wasn't true. He wondered if she did. "Calleigh, you need to talk to a grief counselor."

"I will."

"Soon."

"I know."

"This wasn't your fault. Hagen made his own choices."

She turned back to the gravestone. Her eyelids flickered closed for a second. "I know," she said more quietly. _But he's not the one who has to live with them, _she chose not to add aloud.

"Calleigh..."

"Please, Horatio," she cut him off. "I think I need to deal with this on my own for a while."

"Just make sure you're not punishing yourself."

"I'm not."

"Okay." Horatio placed his hand on her shoulder for a moment, then walked away, leaving her to whatever she felt like she had to do to deal with this.

She wished she could figure out what that was.

Anonymous, _Kokinshu 948:_

Is the world a sadder place than once it was?  
And has the change been wrought by me alone?


	21. Shoal

Sources: _Tales of Ise, _trans. Helen Craig McCullough; _One Hundred Poems from the Japanese_, trans. Kenneth Rexroth; _The Languages of the World, _Kenneth Katzner.

Author's note: Let me explain the poem I chose for this episode a little, because I think it expresses their situation perfectly, but you need some background to understand it. The _Tales of Ise _was written in Japan more than a thousand years ago. Many of the poems in it were attributed to Ariwara no Narihira, who, (probably over-exaggerated) legend had it, was a bit of a womanizer. These two poems refer to the _nusa__,_ sacred branches used in a Shinto purification ceremony. After being handled by many people, the _nusa_ were thrown into a river to float away. I hope that explains the metaphor enough. If not, just ask and I'll expound on it further. That goes for any of the poems in the story, by the way.

Chronology: "Head Case"

_Tales of Ise_ 47:

Her:

Many as the hands  
pulling at sacred wands  
are those that tug at you.  
I find you most attractive,  
but you are not to be trusted.

Him:

I am indeed reputed  
to resemble a sacred wand-  
yet when its drifting is done  
is there not a shoal  
where the wand comes to rest?

Eric found Calleigh waiting at the intersection where she'd told him to meet her. He sat down next to her. "We waiting on Tripp?"

"We are," she replied cheerily. She glanced at him. This case was hard on him, and she understood why. "You doing okay?"

He looked at her for a moment. "No, not really," he admitted. "I just found out that Doug's all alone. Doesn't have a wife, family."

"You know you're not Doug, right?" She wanted to assure him that if anything like that happened to him, he would have his family, Horatio, and her at his side, no matter what.

"Yeah, I know."

"Okay." She looked back at the street.

Eric watched her push back her golden hair, giving him a better view of her beautiful profile. It seemed to be an opportune moment to bring up his feelings for her. Ever since Dr. Marsh's murder, he'd suspected she not only read his file, but had come across something in it that indicated he was in love with her. He'd been hoping she would bring it up, but she hadn't.

"Your friendship means a lot to me, Calleigh." He'd decided on those words and rehearsed them in his head over the past weeks. They were calculated to let her know he cared for her while at the same time assuring her she could reject him without harming their friendship or working relationship, and providing her a platform to either let him down easy or say something to give him encouragement. He'd imagined a hundred different replies she might give for both scenarios.

"I didn't know you felt that way."

That had not been one of them.

"How could you not know that?" he asked. "You read my file."

She knew he was trying to find out how she felt about him, but the truth was that she was still trying to figure that out herself. She had been ever since she read his file. Actually, it started long before that, in his words to her after she was kidnapped, and the look on his face after he saw Jake kiss her. She still didn't know, and wasn't ready to talk about it, because unless she was sure about both her own feelings and his there was too great a risk that one of them would end up hurt. "That was an unrelated case," she evaded. "It's important to me to respect your privacy.' she smiled like she imagined she would if she really hadn't read his file and had no idea what he was talking about. But then she kept smiling at him. This amazing, smart, funny, gorgeous man was trying to tell her he wanted more than friendship with her. Was she a fool to not jump at the chance?

Her answer hadn't been an encouragement, but it hadn't been a rejection either. And now she was looking at him almost dreamily. If she really hadn't read his file, she would have asked what he said about her in it. He bit his lip and looked at her thoughtfully, trying to formulate a joke to the effect that she could stop respecting his privacy any time she felt like it, but that wouldn't sound too much like a double entendre.

The moment was broken by Tripp's unnoticed arrival. "Well who's organizing this picnic?"

Taira no Kanemori, Hyakunin Isshu 40:

Although I hide it  
My love shows in my face  
So plainly that he asks me  
"Are you thinking of something?"

Their brief exchange played over and over in Calleigh's mind. Eric was unbelievably attractive, and sweet, and and charming...and he knew it and had used those charms on a hundred other women. If she got involved with him, she would fall in love-she wouldn't be able to help herself. And if his infatuation was sated by the conquest...she knew he'd never hurt her knowingly, but he did not have a good track record of constancy to the women he dated.

Over the past years, Calleigh had a string of terrible luck with lovers. John Hagen had become obsessive and possessive, finally killing himself in front of her. Peter Elliott got engaged to another woman without telling her. And Jake had disappeared from her life without even a goodbye...again. She cared for Eric so much that she was especially terrified of losing him like she lost them. His words to Dr. Marsh-that after getting shot he'd been thinking about settling down, and it would be 'nice' if it were her-did he really love her, or was he just looking for someone and she had been there for him? Maybe he thought he'd changed, but maybe it was just a phase following his brush with death, and he would go back to the playboy he'd always been, and she'd be just another fling. Could she work with him if that happened? She wasn't sure she wanted to take that risk.

"Calleigh, are you still there?" Horatio's voice asked over the phone.

"Yeah, sorry. I was just...thinking. So the file on the hat, how soon do you need it?"

"As soon as possible, please."

"Well, I'm heading out to follow up with a possible witness in a few, but I'll hand it off to Delko to get to you."

"Thank you ma'am. I'll let Eric know to look for you."

She finished typing the notes, then went to wait by the elevator for Eric's arrival. Her heart skipped a beat when the doors opened to reveal him.

"Hey. I was waiting for you. Uh, this is the file Horatio wanted."

"Thanks." He took it and started to walk away, but then turned back. He hadn't been able to get their conversation at the corner out of his head. He was becoming more and more desperate to know what she thought of what he said. "About what happened earlier: I didn't mean to put you on the spot."

She smiled and shrugged. "Forget it."

"What if I don't want to?" He looked at her plaintively.

Her beautiful smile dissolved instantly away, revealing itself to have been artificial. "Eric, I am so confused. What _do _you want?"

Stung, Eric looked down, unable to answer.

"You are going to have to tell me, because until I actually hear you say the words, I don't even know if you believe it yourself."

He couldn't think of words to counter her implied accusation.

"Do you know what I'm saying?" she prompted, hoping-longing-to hear his voice confirm what she'd read in his file, to hear him deny her charges. If he would just tell her that it was different with her, then she would believe him. But he remained silent. Calleigh rolled her eyes and walked away.

"Yeah, I do," he whispered. She was saying that she doubted he really meant the things he'd said to his therapist in confidence. She thought he was still the unapologetic womanizer he used to be. She'd said she trusted him with her life, but apparently she didn't trust him to know his own mind and heart enough not to risk their friendship for a superficial attraction. She didn't trust him with her feelings.

The pained look on Eric's face still haunted Calleigh minutes later. His question had echoed one John Hagen asked long ago, in a much more sinister context, and the memory made her more hostile than she'd meant to be. Maybe she'd been too hard on him. Maybe his silence hadn't meant he wasn't completely sure about his feelings for her. Maybe he was just too stunned to respond. While it's not true that you always hurt the ones you love, she resolutely believed, what is true is that you're ideally positioned to hurt the ones who love _you_.

But how was she supposed to know for sure? She needed him to talk to her. A love note. Flowers. _Something. _Was that so much to ask?

Umashankar Joshi, "The human heart":

How little it takes to break the human heart!  
A word half spoken;  
A word unspoken;  
How little it takes to bleed the heart!

The lightning flash of a teeny smile:  
How little it takes to please that heart!  
And how little it takes to break it!

How little it takes to please the human heart!  
And how little it takes to break it!


	22. Footsteps

Sources: _The Tale of Genji; The White Pony, _ed. Robert Payne

Chronology: Season 4

Murasaki Shikibu:

Put blossoms in your caps today. Who knows  
That there will still be life when spring comes round?

She hadn't cried when she told him, breaking the news over coffee at his apartment one quiet evening.

He had, later, after she left. He'd been too shocked at first.

"Are you sure?" he'd asked.

"Yeah."

"I mean...are they sure it's cancer? It could be something else."

Marisol's beautiful face held something like pity. "The doctors are sure, little brother_. _They double checked and triple checked."

He shook his head, still not believing this. They had to be wrong. Or this was just a strange, terrible dream. Marisol was always so healthy, so happy, so vibrant and vital. It was inconceivable that she could have cancer.

"Is it..." he wanted to ask if it was treatable, but the words didn't seem to make sense in his head. If he asked if it was treatable, that would be admitting the possibility that it was fatal. It made so little sense to imagine his dear sister dying that even the words seemed ungrammatical.

"The doctors say, with the best treatment, it could go either way." She blinked a few times. Fear was beginning to seep through her cheerful, hopeful demeanor.

He took her hand. "What can I do to help you?" He didn't ask _if_ there was anything he could do to help her because he was going to do _something. _

"I don't know yet. I'll let you know."

Over the next months, Eric devoted himself to his favorite sister. He supported her emotionally and financially, making sure she made it to her appointments, staying with her when she had a bad day, buying her groceries and helping with her rent and medication when she was too sick to work. When she told him she found marijuana helped, he didn't even try to argue with her. He only nodded, a nod to seal his willingness to break the law and risk his career and the trust and respect of his colleagues for nothing more than to temporarily ease her suffering.

He'd always been a little bit casual about showing up to work on time, so at first his coworkers didn't notice when it started happening more frequently. He didn't tell anyone about what he was dealing with. It was too personal. He felt like he had no right to talk about it to anyone. It was his sister's life; nothing he suffered or sacrificed could even compare to what she was going through, and to even mention how his own life was affected would have felt selfish.

But her battle increasingly became his life, too. And it didn't take long for it to start overflowing into his workday. And then it all came crashing together.

Feng Chih, trans. Chu K'an:

You say, the things I like best to gaze on  
Are the country pathways quick with life,  
For many are the feet of the nameless wanderers  
Whose footsteps left imprints on these living roads.

So too in the fields of our mind,  
There also are winding footpaths,  
The paths of those who once traveled this way  
And disappeared, no one knows whither.

There were children alone, and old couples;  
Youths and maidens in their first rejoicing,  
Old friends now dead. Then join

In treading for us those ancient pathways.  
Therefore, in memory of their fading footsteps,  
Let us prevent the paths from being choked by weeds.


	23. Cupid's Arrows

Sources: _Great Short Poems; _ 2001 Waka Website

Chronology: Between Season 2 and 3.

Edward FitzGerald "The Three Arrows"

PORCIA'S SONG  
Of all the shafts to Cupid's bow,  
The first is tipp'd with fire;  
All bare their bosoms to the blow  
And call the wound Desire.

Love's second is a poison'd dart,  
And Jealousy is named:  
Which carries poison to the heart  
Desire had first inflamed.

The last of Cupid's arrows all  
With heavy lead is set:  
That vainly weeping lovers call  
Repentance, or Regret.

"I don't know what they were expecting, having gold-plated doorknobs," Eric commented as he measured a footprint on the sidewalk.

Calleigh raised her eyebrow at him. Her amused smile was discernible in her voice. "Money troubles again, Delko?"

"I'm just saying, there are millions of people starving in the world, and this guy is surprised that someone stole his gold doorknobs?"

"And a few hundred thousand dollars in art, jewelry, and cars," she reminded him as she photographed the tool marks on the door.

"Why did he even need three cars?"

"What I want to know is how this crew could use power tools to cut out the doorknobs in broad daylight without any of the neighbors noticing."

"This is one of the richest neighborhoods in Miami; people only pay attention to their neighbors to see how much money they're spending."

"You know, just because people are rich doesn't make them bad," she pointed out. "Besides, our job is to catch the criminals, not criticize the victims."

Eric didn't respond.

When they were done processing the scene of the burglary, they packed up the evidence in the Hummer and headed back to the lab.

"Is everything okay, Eric?" Calleigh inquired as she drove. "You seem a little upset."

He nodded unemphatically. "Yeah."

"Anything you want to talk about?"

"Not really."

"Okay."

They drove in silence for a few minutes.

"It's just that...I'm having some problems with this girl I've been seeing." He'd been hesitant to talk about it, but then rationalized that since Calleigh was his closest female friend, she might be able to offer some advice.

"Jane?"

"Yeah."

Calleigh glanced over at him. "What's wrong? I thought things were going great with her."

"They were. But lately..." He shook his head. "I don't know. It seems like she's changed."

"How long have you been seeing her?"

"Four months."

Calleigh was sure she'd heard Eric mention other women more recently than four months ago, but she didn't bring that up. "What happened?"

"Last week, she asked me to move in with her. She said she understood if I wasn't ready, so I told her I wasn't. But then she started acting cold toward me. I asked her what was wrong, and she basically said if I really loved her I'd move in with her. "

"I'm sorry." Calleigh knew that Eric had been really excited about Jane. He'd even said he was in love with her.

"She implied that I wanted to stay in my own apartment just so I could see other women without her finding out about it. So I left, and I thought we were through because she didn't call me all week. Then last night she shows up at my place and acted like nothing happened." He sighed in frustration. "So what do you think I should do?"

"What do you want to do?" she asked.

"I don't know. I really liked her, but..."

"But you don't like where the relationship is heading?"

"Not just that. I don't like demands, I don't think I should have to prove how much I love someone, and I don't like not knowing what's going on between us. But I really care about her."

She shrugged. "If she doesn't trust you and doesn't care about you enough to give you your space, then it sounds like she's not right for you. And if she wants more from the relationship than you do, then maybe you should break it off so she can look for someone else."

He nodded. It was what he'd been thinking, but it made him feel better to hear someone else say it, especially someone whose opinion he trusted so much. "Yeah, you're right. Thanks."

"Anytime." She smiled at him, and wondered if he would ever settle down.

Eric looked out the window. It wasn't like Jane was the first woman he'd fallen in love with-as Marisol sometimes said, his problem was that he fell in love too easily and too often. But he'd thought Jane might be the real thing, the one that would last. She was beautiful, passionate, creative, and spontaneous. But lately it seemed like they couldn't go a day without getting in a fight. The same attributes that he'd initially found so attractive were starting to frustrate him. Finally breaking it off would be a relief, but he would still miss her. He hated how complicated love could be.

Izumi Shikibu, _Goshuishu_ 831, trans. Thomas McAuley:

Silver dewdrops,  
dreams, this fleeting world  
and even illusions:  
were I to compare them to our love  
they would seem eternal.


	24. Tomb

Sources: Rumi, _Birdsong_, trans. Coleman Barks; _One Hundred Poems from the Japanese_, trans. Kenneth Rexroth

Chronology: post "One of Our Own"

Rumi:

Roses shine in the clay  
beside your tomb.

Be aware, earth,  
who sleeps inside you!

It was getting late. The mosquitoes darted around in swarms, but Eric barely noticed them. Or anything else, really. He couldn't say how long he'd been standing there, staring at the flowers and her gravestone. It was the first time he'd been to her grave since the funeral.

Marisol Delko Caine.

The shock of her loss was an echo resounding in the sudden hollowness that was his soul without her.

His sister, his big sister, his childhood playmate and protector, his cheerleader, his support, his confidante, the one who had always been there for him, no matter what...how could she be gone? Not even when Speedle died had Eric felt such loss. This one was complete, total, unremitting, all-consuming. The entire world seemed bleak without her.

He stood before her grave in silence, unmoving, allowing the grief to pound through him from the inside. He had no idea what else he could do, how he could deal with this. He couldn't fathom that she was gone. That Mari was gone.

Mari...

Somewhere at the far corner of the cemetery, almost unheard, a mourning dove called out.

Eric suddenly realized how late it was. With heavy steps and a numb heart, he slowly turned and walked away.

Kakinomoto no Hitomaro, _Manyoshu _212:

When I left my girl  
In her grave on Mount Hikite  
And walked down the mountain path,  
I felt as though I were dead.


	25. Endures

Sources: _Love Poems_, ed. Peter Washington;_ One Hundred Poems from the Japanese_

Chronology: "Going Under"

William Empson "Villanelle"

It is the pain, it is the pain, endures.  
Your chemic beauty burned my muscles through.  
Poise of my hands reminded me of yours.

What later purge from this deep toxin cures?  
What kindness now could the old salve renew?  
It is the pain, it is the pain, endures.

The infection slept (custom or change inures)  
And when pain's secondary phase was due  
Poise of my hands reminded me of yours.

How safe I felt, whom memory assures,  
Rich that your grace safely by heart I knew.  
It is the pain, it is the pain, endures.

My stare drank deep beauty that still allures.  
My heart pumps yet the poison draught of you.  
Poise of my hands reminded me of yours.

You are still kind whom the same shape immures.  
Kind and beyond adieu. We miss our cue.  
It is the pain, it is the pain, endures.  
Poise of my hands reminded me of yours.

She was surprised to say the least when she recognize him among the bikers they were investigating. Once again, Calleigh's skill at hiding her real feelings came in handy.

There had been a time, so many, many years ago, when she imagined this moment every day: what would she say to him if she saw him again? She had fallen so hard for him in their time together at the academy, and she thought he'd felt the same way about her, but the moment they graduated, they went their separate ways and he made no effort to keep in touch with her. He didn't even give her his new number, and never called hers.

He was, if anything, even more handsome than she remembered him. And every bit as smug.

"So...you work under an alias?" She wasn't sure what he was doing or who he was working for, and would go on pretending she didn't know him if he didn't want to blow his cover.

"For you it's Jake Berkeley."

She nodded to herself. "When did you lateral to the Feds?"

"I let you take me down. You know that, right?"

Trying to put her on the defensive instead of answering a question. Yes, Calleigh remembered that tactic. "Oh that's right, I forgot. Let's see...you were first in our class, academy star, only scared of failure?"

"Well you could'a been first, if you weren't so distracted by that guy you were seeing. What was his name? Oh yeah! That was me."

Yep. Just as smug as ever.

In her least-charitable moments of ruminating on their relationship, she suspected he'd deliberately played on her attraction to him to distract her so he could surpass her academically. And at other moments, in between the other men she'd dated, occurring with less and less frequency as the years passed, she suspected she would never stop being in love with him.

Some things never change.

She didn't let their history affect the investigation. When the evidence started pointing to Jake, he was just another suspect. But it became increasingly hard for her to ignore the fact that she still carried a torch for him.

He'd broken her heart once, she kept reminding herself. It hadn't been a sudden break, but every day he didn't call had felt like slow torture. It had taken a long time for that wound to heal. She had to be on her guard, lest he hurt her again.

But she couldn't convince her heart to not beat faster every time she was near him.

She told herself her feelings for him were just because it had been so long since she'd been with anyone. She was tired of being alone. But of course it was more than that. It wasn't just that he was cute, charming, and exciting. He was an undercover officer, a difficult, dangerous job that compelled her admiration.

At the end of the case, she watched him walk out of the building, sensing that she was in danger of falling back in love with him.

Yamabe no Akahito, _Manyoshu _325:

The mists rise over  
The still pools at Asuka.  
Memory does not  
Pass away so easily.


	26. West

Sources: _World Poetry: An Anthology of Verse from Antiquity to Our Time, _ed. Clifton Fadiman; _The Tale of Genji_; _The White Pony: An Anthology of Chinese Poetry, _ed. Robert Payne

Chronology: "Man Down"

Prince Otsu, Kaifuso 7, trans. Burton Watson:

The golden crow lights on the western huts;  
Evening drums beat out the shortness of life.  
There are no inns on the road to the grave.  
Whose is the house I go to tonight?

Eric gained awareness gradually. His mind a caliginous fog from pain killers and head trauma, he didn't know where he was. He couldn't remember what had happened, but he knew it wasn't good. He felt dizzy, disoriented, desolate. An eternal haze of pain and fear. Was he dying? Was he dead? Was this hell?

He realized he was touching something. There was something in his hand. Something solid, the first external sensation connecting him back to reality. It felt like a chain. A necklace. A pendant. His fingers tightened on it enough to make out the familiar corners of a cross. So he wasn't dead. He focused on it and wordlessly prayed. He wasn't even sure what he was praying for, but it helped stave off the panic.

From the touch of the cross, he was able to locate his hand. From there, he found his arm. Little by little, his proprioception returned and his sense of helpless vertigo abated.

Then there was a voice. "Hey. It's me, Calleigh."

Of course it was. He would know and trust that voice anywhere.

He found his voice and spoke. "Cal."

"You look good," she said.

A clumsy smile crooked his lips. He was sure she was lying, but it was so good to hear her voice. With her there, he was sure nothing bad could happen to him.

"Your, um, your parents are on their way and they're gonna be here real soon. And Horatio was here. And Alexx," he heard her say.

He smiled. Marisol would probably also be coming. She was always looking out for him. Maybe she was already there. "Where's my sister?"

"What?" Calleigh asked.

"Marisol." How could she not know that? Marisol had to be there somewhere. Was something wrong? "Where's my sister?" His fear was growing again. When he tried to speak, his lips felt dry and sticky. "I wanna see my sister."

She was quiet for what seemed like a long time. "Hey," she whispered, "why don't you rest?"

He felt her hand gently squeeze his shoulder. He opened his eyes enough to see he was in a hospital room. He must have been in some kind of accident. Rest was probably a good idea. He closed his eyes again.

"Just rest."

Why did she sound so sad? He didn't have much time to wonder; sleep enfolded him in seconds.

Calleigh blinked rapidly in an attempt to keep herself from crying. What was wrong with him? Why had he asked for his dead sister?

Murasaki Shikibu:

Deceive yourself not into thinking them autumn showers,  
These tears I weep in hopeless longing to see you.

Alexx was waiting for her outside the room.

"You okay?" she asked with concern when she saw Calleigh's face.

She nodded, offering a small, unconvincing smile.

Alexx let it go for the moment. She handed her the small bag containing a tiny metal fragment. It was bloody. Eric's blood. "It's what they could get of the bullet. I have to warn you, it's not much. The rest is lodged in his temporal lobe." She didn't mean to make it sound so serious, but she wanted to explain why the doctors had decided it would be too risky to extract the rest of it. Saving a life took precedence over solving a case. Always. She was sure Calleigh would agree, in this case especially.

Calleigh looked at it, and then back at Alexx. "He's different," she said softly, asking for reassurance, or at least an explanation.

"I tried to catch you before you went in. Patients with a hematoma, like Eric's, loss of oxygen...deficits are natural."

"Like what?"

"Compromised motor skills, slow speech..."

Calleigh nodded. Her face was a mask, and she almost managed to keep her voice from betraying her fear, but anyone who knew her well would be able to see that she was deeply troubled, and struggling to keep it inside. "He thinks Marisol is still alive."

"Memory loss," Alexx stated, nodding slightly. Another not uncommon side-effect.

"So what's going to happen?"

"It already has, honey. He just might not be the Eric we know him to be."

Calleigh nodded, and looked through the window to where Eric now slept. She didn't trust herself to speak. She'd been so afraid he would die that she hadn't thought about the other possible repercussions. How much of his personality had been destroyed by that bullet? What would be left of him when he awoke? Would he be able to walk? Be able to function? Be able to go back to work? Would he want to? How much else had he forgotten? Eric...her dear friend, invaluable colleague, her partner...if he wasn't the Eric she knew, who was he now?

Had she lost her Eric after all?

Li Yu, trans. Hsiung Ting:

Silent and alone I climb the west tower.  
The moon is like a hook.  
Desolate _wu-t'ung _trees in the shady courtyard imprison clear autumn.  
Cut, and not severed,  
Disentangled, not unraveled;  
The sorrow of parting  
Is a strange and unknown flavor in the heart.


	27. Lunar Caustic

Sources: _One Hundred Poems from the Japanese; White Pony_, ed. Robert Payne; _The Tale of Genji_

Chronology: Season 5

Mibu no Tadami, _Hyakunin Isshu _41:

Yes I am in love.  
They were talking about me  
Before daylight,  
Although I began to love  
Without knowing it.

Calleigh paused outside the fingerprint lab. Eric was working on a leather wallet . He was examining it under a magnifying glass, frowning with either intense concentration or disappointment.

She had been watching him carefully since he came back to work after being shot, a couple of short weeks ago. She wasn't just looking for changes in his personality and behavior, but also for any indication that he needed reassurance, reminders, or just someone to talk to.

He seemed to be having a little trouble getting back into the groove of crime-solving, but it would have been barely noticeable to people who weren't close to him. As for his personality, at first all she saw (with intense relief) were the similarities to his old self. He was still the same Eric Delko, a good friend and great CSI.

But there was _something _different about him. It was hard to tell if it was the result of brain damage or the consequence of his new perspective on life provided by his brush with death, but he seemed more somber now, more mature, more serious.

The scar on his head was visible in his short-cropped hair, but it probably wouldn't be noticed by someone who didn't already know it was there.

He looked good with his hair like that.

The way she was feeling at the moment perplexed her a little, because she didn't want to admit it to herself that such a terrible thought had even crossed her mind: yes Eric was different, but maybe she liked the new Eric better.

She quickly banished that thought from her mind. To even suggest that something good had come from her friend being shot in the head made her feel a little queasy. She was just relieved to have him back. That was all. They had come so close to losing him. He'd been declared dead, but then, miraculously, he'd come back to them. His heart had started beating again. Maybe she took him for granted before; she vowed she never would again.

_Book of Songs_ 143:

The white moon is rising,  
O lady so lovely and bright.  
Why am I forsaken?  
Why am I consumed with grief?

The white moon in rising  
Is like the splendor of my lady.  
Why am I caught in these chains?  
Why am I consumed with grief?

The moon rising in splendor  
Is the light of my love.  
Why am I forsaken?  
Why am I consumed with grief?

Eric sighed in frustration. He felt like he should be able to get at least one usable print. Maybe he'd messed up.

He didn't notice someone enter the room until she moved into his peripheral vision. It was Calleigh, smiling mildly.

"Hey. What's up?" he asked.

"Just passing through to drop off a report and I thought I'd stop by, see how you're doing."

"I'm trying to pull prints off a wallet from an armed robbery this morning, but so far I haven't gotten anything. Ninhydrin just gave me a couple of smudges."

"And iodine wouldn't show up on this color."

"Yeah. I was just about to try silver nitrate."

"Can I watch?"

He wasn't sure why she wanted to. She didn't sound like she was concerned that he might do it wrong, and it wasn't even her case. But he couldn't think of any reason he didn't want her to, either. It wouldn't hurt to have her there in case he forgot a procedure. Anyone else would have made him anxious about making a mistake, but not her. "Sure."

Calleigh watched as he lightly sprayed the silver nitrate solution onto the wallet. They waited as it dried, and then put it under an ultraviolet light. They both smiled when a few distinct fingerprints developed, black against the light brown leather.

"We've got a nice double loop whorl here. I can already tell you that doesn't match the prints I got from the robbery victim; his were all arches and plain whorls," Eric said.

"Congratulations, it's a suspect."

He smiled and glanced up at her. "Thanks." Then he kept looking at her, like he was trying to figure something out. Calleigh looked different. He couldn't put his finger on any specific feature that had changed, but there was _something. _Of course, he'd always known she was beautiful, but had she always been _this _beautiful? So beautiful it was hard to look away? It seemed like he would have noticed.

It wouldn't be until later that he began to think the difference was not in the way she looked, but in the way he was seeing.

Maybe it was the way she was looking at him, leaning her head to one side, smiling. "You always were the best at lifting prints," she said, and then, with a final burst of brightness in her smile, she turned and left.

Eric's eyes trailed after her as she walked away. Before she came, he'd been stewing in frustration and self-recrimination. He'd been having a bad day. With a few words and smiles, she had completely reversed that. He'd even had a headache that seemed to go away the moment he saw her. Even knowing how irrational it was, he found himself wishing she would stay.

Murasaki Shikibu:

I had not known the sudden loneliness  
of having it vanish away, the moon in the sky of dawn.


	28. Remembered

Sources: _One Hundred Poems from the Japanese; The Ode Less Travelled_

Chronology: Season 5

Ki no Tsurayuki:

Out in the marsh reeds  
A bird cries out in sorrow,  
As though it had recalled  
Something better forgotten.

The bar was called "Diego's." It was quiet, clean, and not far from the lab. Whenever the CSIs decided to meet for drinks after work, they meant at Diego's unless otherwise specified.

One evening, Eric was sitting at the bar when Horatio took the seat next to him.

"Hey," Eric greeted him. "Are Calleigh and Natalia coming?" He'd invited Ryan along, but he said he had some work to finish up.

"Natalia is visiting family, and Calleigh has plans with Jake."

"Oh." Eric sounded a little disappointed. He had hoped Calleigh at least would join them. He hadn't worked much with Jake, but he'd disliked him ever since piecing together that he and Calleigh had been involved back in their academy days. Jake always seemed too suave, too casual, and too full of himself. Eric acknowledged that he'd been accused of those same flaws, but he wasn't the one catching her eye. For another thing, Eric questioned the intelligence and judgment of anyone who could walk away from someone as great as Calleigh. He knew how much she'd been hurt by Hagen and Peter Elliott, and he would hate to see her hurt again.

He'd occasionally thought about voicing some of his concerns to her, but of course he had no room to criticize her choices in men. After all, she'd never said anything about his relationship decisions, many of which were obviously much worse. And he didn't want her to take it the wrong way.

Anyway, he welcomed the opportunity to talk to Horatio privately.

Horatio broke their minute of silence. "How are you doing?" His tone of voice was not that used for the casual greeting; it was an earnest inquiry. It had been only about a month since Eric got out of the hospital.

"Off the record?"

"Off the record."

Eric looked down at his reflection in his cup. "I've been better." He forced a smile and added, "But I'd say for someone with a bullet in his brain, I'm fantastic."

Horatio laughed silently. The bar was almost deserted, so they weren't worried about being overheard, but they still spoke in low voices. "Have you been sleeping?"

He hesitated for a few seconds. "I've been taking sleeping pills. Not every night, but a few times a week. I'm..." He didn't want to admit he was afraid he'd never be back to normal.

"It's okay," Horatio assured him. "It will take time."

"I've been...having these memories. Sometimes they're just flashes, just bits and pieces. Some of them don't make a lot of sense. About Marisol, about..." he licked his lips nervously before whispering, "Rio."

"I imagine you may have some concerns."

"I need to know something," Eric replied carefully. "And...it doesn't really matter what the answer is, but I need to know." When he continued, his voice was barely audible. "Who killed Riaz?"

Horatio had been expecting this to come up. "It wasn't you," he answered.

Eric wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed that he hadn't been the one to avenge Marisol's death, but knowing for sure took a weight off his chest. "How did it happen? I mean, if you don't mind talking about it. I want to know the truth."

"When we were in Brazil," he began, "there was a lot going on. Riaz had..."

"He killed your brother," Eric recalled.

"Yes. And put Ray Junior in danger."

"I'm sorry."

Horatio nodded, accepting the condolence without comment. "Calleigh was running the lab, and was also keeping an eye on us, monitoring us through our cellphones. When she lost track of yours, she called me. That's when I realized you'd gone after Riaz alone."

Eric could remember Antonio Riaz coming at him with a knife. He could have died if Horatio hadn't found him. He and Calleigh probably saved his life, and Calleigh did it with a phone call from thousands of miles away. He remembered first opening his eyes in the hospital after being shot: Calleigh was there. His eyes couldn't focus on her; she looked like a blur of light. A guardian angel.

Horatio watched him closely. "Is it coming back to you?"

"Yes."

"The important thing is that Marisol got justice."

Though Eric was glad Antonia Riaz was dead, he still felt unsatisfied about how it happened. Not because he hadn't been the one to kill him, but because Riaz had been allowed to go free. He now saw the difference between revenge and justice: revenge was one person being outraged at a wrong and moving to punish those responsible; justice was _everyone_ being outraged by a wrong and, as one, condemning the guilty. Everyone should have been outraged by what happened to Marisol; Riaz never should have been allowed to go free. Justice wasn't served.

Eric's unhappy thoughts were pushed away when he saw a head of golden hair moving through the bar to join them. "Hey," Calleigh said, smiling.

"What happened to Jake?" Horatio inquired.

"He was delayed at work. I decided I'd try to salvage my night by spending it with you instead."

Eric marveled at how suddenly his mood was improved simply by Calleigh's presence. Simply by existing, she made the world seem more just, and tragedies more bearable.

_Grateful_, he told himself: that's what he was feeling toward her. He was just grateful to her for looking out for him. That was all.

Wendy Cope, "Valentine":

My heart has made its mind up  
And I'm afraid it's you.  
Whatever you've got lined up,  
My heart has made its mind up  
And if you can't be signed up  
This year, next year will do.  
My heart has made its mind up  
And I'm afraid it's you.


	29. Sea Change

Sources: Everyman's Library Pocket Poets, _Poems of the Sea, _ed. J.D. McClatchy;_ Kokinshu; _Pablo Neruda, _Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair, _trans. W.S. Merwin

Chronology: Season 5. References to "Going Under," "Death Grip," "Simple Man," and "Wet Foot/Dry Foot."

Genevieve Taggard, "Sea-Change"

You are no more, but sunken in a sea  
Sheer into dream, ten thousand leagues, you fell;  
And now you lie green-golden, while a bell  
Swings with the tide, my heart; and all is well  
Till I look down, and wavering, the spell -  
Your loveliness - returns. There in the sea,  
Where you lie amber-pale and coral-cool,  
You are most loved, most lost, most beautiful.

Calleigh arrived at the pier just in time to see Eric splash into the flashing water. The waves caught the afternoon sun, beating blinding-white and misty green. Like her heart these days.

Why were her feelings never simple?

It was hard to ignore the way she was drawn to Eric ever since he came back to work. He was gorgeous, sexy, one of the best CSIs she knew...but he'd been all those things for as long as she'd known him. She couldn't let anything happen with him. She admired and respected him, yes, and she was attracted to him - very - but he'd made it clear over the years that he wasn't interested in serious long-term relationships, which was what she wanted. She'd had enough of her heart being torn by stormy romances and bad breakups.

Which brought her to Jake. She'd never quite gotten over him, and for years after they lost touch, something or another would remind her of him at least once per waken hour. She wasn't sure how she felt about him now, whether she wanted to be with him again, whether she wanted to take that risk.

Why couldn't it just be Eric? Why did he have to be so flighty, so wild? If only he felt toward her the way she felt toward him. Or if only she could limit her feelings for him to friendship, then she'd be able to try again with Jake. And anyway, Eric was a coworker; it wouldn't work out, it could cause professional complications.

She tried to drag her thoughts back to the case. She couldn't match the victim's stab wounds until they found a knife. They could probably get a conviction without the weapon, based on the victim's statement alone, but the knife would seal the deal. And if it had been tossed into the ocean here, as a witness had reported, Eric would find it. There was no CSI better at finding evidence underwater than him. He amazed her sometimes. She was privileged to work with him. She tried to remind herself of that, tried to scare herself away from risking that.

Ariwara no Motokata, _Kokinshu_ 747:

I turn back to her  
as the white waves roll to shore  
from the offing no  
matter the distance my heart  
is held captive by her charms

Eric had always loved the ocean. The ocean had been his constant companion growing up, it had cradled the boat that safely delivered his family to America's shores. Some of his earliest memories were of jumping through the waves with his sisters, their parents watching vigilantly from the beach. He couldn't remember ever being apprehensive about entering the water before, but this was the first time he'd gone diving since being shot, and he kept thinking about brain aneurysms.

But his worries receded as the ocean embraced him. It was late afternoon, and rays of sunlight were shafts of gold cutting through the glowing green ocean water.

A witness had called the police to report a man tossing a knife off the pier. The man matched the description of a suspect in an attempted murder. If they could find the knife, the man identified by the victim as her attacker - who was currently maintaining his innocence, claiming the woman, his business partner, was trying to frame him - wouldn't stand a chance in court.

Nothing moved in the water but the dancing patterns of sunlight on the seafloor. He slowly swam above the slope, scanning for any sign of the knife.

The golden rays of sun faded in and out, back and forth with the waves.

The ocean was always so beautiful. Shallow or deep, it held so many secrets. It was always changing, always shifting, and yet always constant.

Today, the sea was a deep, blue-tinged green. Like her eyes.

Water could be dangerous, of course. He remembered (the memory had returned to him only after reading through reports on the case) the time Calleigh had been run off the road into a swamp. She'd managed to stay calm, break the Hummer's window, and swim to the surface.

When he arrived at the scene, he'd gone to her, asked if she was okay, and then asked what she remembered. He'd touched her arm, briefly, just to let her know he was there for her.

The shafts of sunlight were gold, like her hair. Eric had never really understood the appeal of blondes. While he never eschewed a beautiful woman no matter what her hair color, he usually gravitated toward brunettes. But lately blondes had been catching his eye more often for some reason.

The touch had been nothing, just a comforting gesture, like the one she placed on his chest after he was briefly exposed to radiation. Or the time she'd touched his arm when she saw he was bothered by the murder of a young Latina girl who'd been written off as a runaway when she disappeared, while a white girl taken by the same killer had spurred the city to action.

_"It's the same song: you want any real attention in this world, you gotta have blond hair and blue eyes." Realizing he was just venting, he added, "No offense."_

_"None taken." She glanced at him and, with slight amusement, informed him, "My eyes are green."_

_He wondered why he'd never noticed the color of her eyes before. "I'm just mad that we couldn't save her."_

_"Let's get this guy," she said, placing her hand on his shoulder. She'd understood why he felt the way he did: these were his people, and the way the press and justice system treated them made them feel like their lives were worth less than Americans with lighter skin pigmentation and a longer pedigree of speaking the English language. It wasn't fair, and Calleigh knew that. _

_And Eric hadn't even known what color her eyes were._

Her eyes were a deep, mysterious green, with a slight undertone of blue in some lights, like the sea today. They were beautiful. Like the rest of her.

Eric tried to push away his ruminations and concentrate on the task at hand. Even with the help of an underwater metal detector, he had to concentrate on finding the knife.

At least it was light. It would be easier than the time he spent hours searching for a gun in the dark in a murky canal. It had been an extremely stressful case. They were both tired and frustrated, and had exchanged some sharp words.

_"I've been chained to the lab with a fifty-four-round shooting that was supposed to be processed twelve hours ago."_

_"Yeah, well I spent the same twelve hours inhaling sewage at the bottom of the Tamiami Canal, so everyone's got a sad story."_

_She stopped and looked at him, realizing she'd been taking her frustration out on him unfairly. "I'm sorry." She placed her hands on his waist in a miniature version of an embrace._

_He gave her arms a gentle squeeze. "Me too." _

_The touch lasted only a second or two, and he tried not to let on how it had made his pulse race._

Eric loved beautiful women, and Calleigh was a beautiful woman. And his admiration for her skills and intellect surpassed his appreciation for her looks. Sometimes he'd think of her only as a CSI, a colleague. But every time they touched he would be reminded viscerally that she was also a beautiful woman.

A school of small fish, startled by the movement of the water, darted away, disappearing into the green and gold fog.

He felt like he should inform her that she was beautiful, matter-of-factly, like he would report a lab result. But of course she already knew. How many times had he seen her amp up her charms to get information from a witness, possible evidence from a suspect, or a favor from a colleague? Every time he watched her do that, he would be amused, full of admiration, and a little bit turned on.

She must have guessed the effect she had on him. Of course she did; she was brilliant. That's why the time he'd asked if he could crash at her place, she'd agreed with the stipulation that he sleep on the couch and there be no "midnight tiptoe." She knew him too well. Casually fooling around with a coworker was right up his alley, as he later proved with Natalia. He never would have turned down a little midnight tiptoe with Calleigh, if she'd been interested.

He sighed into his oxygen mask. It didn't matter. He wasn't her type.

There, gleaming in the sand, was a knife. Eric took a few photographs of it with his underwater camera, then collected it and swam slowly toward the surface.

Calleigh was waiting for him on the pier. He recognized her through the blur and distortion of the waves, her golden hair and perfect face framed by blue sky and windswept clouds.

She smiled when he broke the surface, and the sweet music of her voice joined the rhythmic sough of the water. "If it isn't the finest fish in the sea. Got something for me?"

He held out the knife, which she carefully eased into an evidence bag before giving him a hand out of the water.

And Eric finally admitted to himself that he had a definite crush on Calleigh Duquesne.

Pablo Neruda, trans. W. S. Merwin:

Leaning into the afternoons I cast my sad nets  
towards your oceanic eyes.

There in the highest blaze my solitude lengthens and flames,  
its arms turning like a drowning man's.

I send out red signals across your absent eyes  
that move like the sea near a lighthouse.

You keep only darkness, my distant female,  
from your regard sometimes the coast of dread emerges.

Leaning into the afternoons I fling my sad nets  
to that sea that beats on your marine eyes.

The birds of night peck at the first stars  
that flash like my soul when I love you.

The night gallops on its shadowy mare  
shedding blue tassels over the land.


	30. Sweet

Sources: _Persian Poets,_ ed. Peter Washington; _The Tale of Genji; Immortal Poems of the English Language_

Chronology: "Just Murdered."

Hafiz, from "Persian Song," trans. Sir William Jones:

Sweet maid, if thou would'st charm my sight,  
And bid these arms thy neck infold;  
That rosy cheek, that lily hand,  
Would give thy poet more delight  
Than all Bocara's vaunted gold,  
Than all the gems of Samarcand.

The case of not one but two murders associated with the contentious Atherton divorce reminded Eric of why he'd never been married. No matter how great relationships were when they first started, they could always go bad. And when they went bad, they tended to go _very _bad.

Someone approached him in the lobby. "Hey. You."

He turned to see a hot brunette wearing a tight green dress, and thought it was his lucky day. He turned toward her, smiling his crooked smile.

"Got something for me?" she asked.

Came on a little strong, he thought. Not that he minded. It had been a long time since he'd had a date. "Sure."

"Yeah," she scoffed.

He was even more confused. Who was this woman? Had she mistaken him for someone else? "Did we meet somewhere?" he asked. "Am I supposed to be taking you out on a lunch date?" This he said half-jokingly; he really hoped the answer was yes.

"Ha ha, very funny, where's my check?" she shot back.

"Your check?"

She nodded.

"I don't even know you."

He didn't like the look on the brunette's face, a rather sour smile. She was less attractive by the second.

Calleigh's voice came to the rescue. "Eric, can I speak to you for just a moment?"

He hadn't noticed Calleigh coming, but was more than happy for the interruption. Still trying to place the woman in front of him, Eric followed Calleigh out of her earshot, then waited for an explanation.

"Unfortunately, you do know her. Right before the accident, you helped her out and she sued you."

"Sued me for what?" he asked.

"I'll explain it to you later, but you didn't do anything wrong."

He looked back at the woman, perplexed about how he could have gotten caught up in a lawsuit.

Calleigh continued. "Eric, you got the shoeprint from the Lamborghini to process, so how 'bout you take that and I'll handle her."

"Yeah, okay. Thanks." He walked away, pausing to examine the woman's face one more time. It frustrated him that there were still so many things he couldn't remember.

Anonymous, _Kokin Rokujo, Zoku Kokka Taikan _33486:

I think of you. So much I may easily say.  
But how to add what lies beyond mere thoughts?

When he first came back from medical leave, he'd been scared to go to work each morning, not just of getting caught in a shoot-out again, but that the cognitive impairments he suffered as a result of being shot in the brain would lead him to mess up a case. But lately he couldn't wait to get to the office each day. Part of that was because keeping his mind occupied with work kept him from thinking about being shot, and about losing Marisol, but it was also because of Calleigh. Just knowing she would be there to help him and stand up for him made him feel secure. He knew she'd always have his back. He never felt safer than he did when he was with her.

And it didn't hurt that she was _extremely_ easy on the eyes, and had that wonderful accent, that she was brilliant and witty and just generally incredible...but they were just friends. Coworkers. Nothing was going to happen. He knew that. It was just a crush. He'd get over it. He was sure he would.

She came to see him when he was almost done processing the evidence.

"That dust lift you collected is pristine," she complimented.

When Carmen had asked her if Eric's medical leave would affect her settlement, Calleigh had wanted to hit her. What kind of person cared more about money than someone's life? Thinking about it made her want to do something for Eric, to show him how glad she was to have him back, to let him know how much she cared about him.

"Thanks," he replied. "I'm, uh, preparing it against the pool boy's shoes now. This must be his favorite pair; they've got a nice wear pattern in 'em."

"Is it unique enough for a match?"

He placed the plastic sheet with the shoe impression over the dust lift. "I'll tell you what," he turned it toward her. "Why don't you tell me?"

Calleigh nudged the two footprints until they overlapped. Her hand came up in a gesture of presentation that was simultaneously mirrored by Eric. "That's a match," she stated. "We got him for killing our Lamborghini guy." She smiled.

"Yeah," he nodded, but suddenly he wasn't too concerned about the case. "Calleigh, I wanted to thank you," he said quickly, sounding a little bit wistful, or maybe even shy.

She glanced at him curiously.

"For taking care of that girl today," he explained, forcing his voice into a more normal cadence.

"It's no problem. You would've done the same thing for me."

"Yeah," he agreed with a quiet nod.

She stood, straightening the papers in her hands.

Eric wasn't sure why he felt so nervous when he was just trying to thank her. He locked his eyes on hers, gave up any attempt to sound casual. "It's just that, uh, you've helped me out a lot this year."

"Well I appreciate you for appreciating me." Smiling, she moved toward him.

Eric knew what someone coming in for a kiss looked like. His mind was shocked into blankness, but his lips parted in anticipation.

Her hand cupping the back of his head, Calleigh pressed her kiss to Eric's cheek. His lips were disappointed, but the rest of his body reacted instantly. The kiss left his skin tingling, his stomach tying in knots. A simple kiss on the cheek had never done that to him before.

It was over too quickly.

Calleigh stood back and smiled at him before walking away with an extra spring in her step. That had been an impulsive move, but something she'd wanted to do for a long time. A simple gesture. Just a kiss. The memory of his skin against her lips would stay with her all day.

Eric turned to watch her go. His surprise melted into a smile.

He didn't notice Natalia come up behind him. "What was that all about?"

"Nothing," he insisted too forcefully to be convincing. He'd been caught red-handed daydreaming about what might have happened if he'd turned his head just an inch and a half to the right.

Leigh Hunt, "Jenny Kissed Me"

Jenny kiss'd me when we met,  
Jumping from the chair she sat in;  
Time, you thief, who love to get  
Sweets into your list, put that in!  
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad,  
Say that health and wealth have miss'd me,  
Say I'm growing old, but add,  
Jenny kiss'd me.


	31. Burn

Sources: _Kokinshu, _trans. Laurel Rasplica Rodd and Mary Catherine Henkenius_; Love Poems, _ed. Peter Washington; Sappho,_ If Not, Winter,_ trans. Anne Carson; Murasaki Shikibu, _Tale of Genji, _trans. Edward Siedensticker; Rumi, _Birdsongs_, trans. Coleman Barks

Chronology: "Burned."

Anonymous, _Kokinshu _17:

not today do not  
burn the Kasuga Meadows  
now for here amidst  
the soft spring-green grasses hide  
my gentle sweetheart and I

Waking up to the fire, watching helplessly as it consumed her fiance and destroyed her life... The image would never leave her.

Claire Gibbs was just sure her guilt was as obvious to the cops questioning her as the stench of gasoline even the soak in the pool seemingly couldn't get off her skin. Part of her wished they would just arrest her. She deserved to go to prison. Brett was dead because of her.

But it wasn't her fault; it was _his _fault - Anthony's. Why should she go to prison when he was the one who made her do it?

Hadn't she suffered enough?

Zenodotos, "A Statue of Eros," trans. Peter Jay:

Who carved Love  
and placed him by  
this fountain,  
thinking  
he could control  
such fire  
with water?

Eric kept thinking about the kiss, about Calleigh. He had to keep reminding himself she hadn't done it on purpose; there was no way she could have known what a simple kiss on the cheek would do to him, because she didn't know about his crush. They worked together. Besides, she kind of had a thing going with Detective Berkeley.

His thoughts were already on Calleigh when Natalia brought up the kiss. "So, um...so Calleigh seems to be taking an interest in you since you got back."

"Yeah. She, uh...she's been great," he said, trying not to let it show in his voice that he was feeling far more than gratitude toward Calleigh. "Really helpful. Everyone has."

"Yeah. Not really what I meant, though," she said.

"What?" He laughed, trying to pretend he didn't know what she was implying.

"I-eh-well, never mind. Never mind."

"What, you think me and Calleigh...?" He was obviously trying hard to act like the thought hadn't even crossed his mind.

Natalia chuckled. "I saw her kiss you."

Eric tried to laugh it off. "Only on the cheek."

"I'm just, you know, sayin'."

Sappho:

you came and I was crazy for you  
and you cooled my mind that burned with longing

While sifting through the rubble at the scene of the arson, Eric found a photograph of the victim and his fiancee. The glass of the frame was shattered. The couple was smiling brightly, obviously in love, enjoying their lives, not thinking how short their time would be. One fire, one bullet...

"Life changes that fast," he mumbled to himself.

But at least Brett and Claire had that time together. Brett had found someone to share the rest of his life with, even if the rest of his life hadn't been as long as he'd hoped. Eric had nearly died without ever knowing that kind of connection. Sure, he'd had girlfriends - dozens of them, not to mention one-night stands, strip clubs, bars - but he'd never had anything like what he saw in this photograph.

He wanted that, he realized. More than he ever thought he would. Before his time was really up.

Murasaki Shikibu:

You put out this silent fire to no avail.  
Can you extinguish the fire in the human heart?

"Hey, you called?" Calleigh inquired as she entered the smoldering room where Eric was examining the floor.

"Yeah." He stood quickly and turned to her. "Guess what: our arson investigator discovered that the point of origin is in this room."

She raised her eyebrows. "The lighter didn't start the fire?"

"No," he confirmed.

"Okay,what did?" she wondered aloud. "There's no evidence of flow burn on the floor."

He explained what he'd worked out from examining the floorboards before she arrived. "There's no gasoline poured in here, which means that the fire was started from the vapors."

"It was poured somewhere else in the house, and then it just sat there," she realized.

"Yeah. As time went on, the vapors crept across the floor, making their way to the water heater."

Calleigh stooped down to look at the spot where the water heater had been. "So the pilot light was our heat source."

"Yeah." He gave voice to the question that he was sure she was also wondering. "But if the arsonist wanted to kill Claire and her fiance, why would he pour gasoline everywhere else, and then let the pilot light ignite the fire?"

"I don't know. You're right," she mumbled. "They probably wouldn't chance it; they would just pour and light."

"Yeah. Or our arsonist is an amateur; never anticipated this."

"Maybe they were surprised," she speculated with a shrug. "Got interrupted."

"An amateur pouring gasoline probably splashed himself," Eric noted.

"Let's get the clothes from all our suspects," she agreed.

"Yeah. If he made this mistake he probably made others. Let's sift through the rest of the debris."

"Alright, this is where Ron Cramer broke the glass," Calleigh said, kneeling down to search for possible evidence. The floor was covered in ashes and chunks of plaster. It could take hours to find anything probative. She was glad she was working with Eric.

They worked so well together, she mused. Working off of each other's knowledge and observations to figure out the evidence...And more than that, working with him, with his sense of humor and his cute crooked smiles, made even the most tragic crime scenes a little less terrible, the most overwhelming piles of probable dead-ends a bit less tedious.

Perhaps, preoccupied with these thoughts, she wasn't being as careful as she should have. Something sharp pricked her finger. "Ow! Dammit."

Eric rushed to her. "What happened?"

"It's a piece of glass," she answered.

"Hold on a second, let me see." He took her finger between his and shined his flashlight on it.

Calleigh was beginning to feel embarrassed about her outburst...or at least that's what she told herself the rush of heat to her face was from. "That'll teach me to leap before I look," she said.

He glanced up and smiled at her, and his eyes stayed on her face for a moment longer than he intended. Then he gently, slowly worked on pulling out the shard without hurting her more. She didn't even feel the pain. Her attention was consumed by his gloved fingers on hers. The rest of the world seemed to draw away, to give them a moment. All she could hear was the beating of her heart and the singing of the birds outside. The crime scene, the crime, the firefighters still moving through the house were temporarily forgotten.

The shard came out, tinged with blood. "Got it," Eric whispered. He didn't let go of her hand.

Calleigh's eyes flicked between her finger and his face. His name slipped from her lips involuntarily, in a whisper. "Eric."

His eyes met hers, surprised, confused. There was something in the way she said his name. What was it? It wasn't gratitude, exactly. Not a question, or a warning, or a request. Why did she say his name like that?

Though he'd loosened his grip on her finger, she didn't take her hand away. She let the back of her fingers trail over his.

The intensity of the moment threatened to become overwhelming. Eric dropped his eyes, breathing a nervous laugh. "Look, the glass is clean," he said, breaking the tension.

"Yeah, there's no smoke stain on it." She was quiet, her expression thoughtful, with maybe a trace of regret.

"Your accident might've turned into our biggest lead."

They went back to work. It took several minutes for Calleigh's pulse to return to normal, and for Eric's hands to stop shaking.

The mystery of that touch and the sound of his name in her voice would plague them both long after the case was solved.

Rumi:

Love lit a fire in my chest, and anything  
that wasn't love left: intellectual  
subtlety, philosophy,  
books, school.

All I want now  
to do or hear  
is poetry.


	32. Sighs

Sources: Ryan North's Dinosaur Comics, February 6, 2003; _Tales of Ise; Immortal Poems of the English Language; _2001 Waka, trans. Thomas McAuley; _The Tale of Genji; Only Companion, _trans. Sam Hamill

Chronology: late Season 5.

Emily Dickinson:

It's such a little thing to weep -  
So short a thing to sigh -  
And yet - by Trades - the size of these  
We men and women die!

The air was muggy, but not too hot. It had rained earlier, and the sidewalks were still wet.

Calleigh had just gotten off work, and hadn't felt like going home, so instead she was taking a walk. It had been Eric's day off, and she was wondering at how much she'd missed him.

Jake had stopped by, doing followup on a case. It had reminded her vaguely of the old days with John, but Jake was nothing like John. While John had always taken everything seriously, Jake was fun-loving, almost frivolous sometimes. And he had never been over-possessive. Now, as when they were dating back at the academy, Jake made it clear that he wanted her to set the pace of the relationship, and establish their boundaries. He was undemanding, energizing. She remembered why she'd gotten involved with him in the first place: he made her laugh, and he made her feel like she was beautiful, charming, and fascinating.

She paused at a bridge, watching the water, and sighed. Jake wanted a second chance, and she was ready to give him one. It was just...Eric.

_Tales of Ise _82:

If this were but a world  
To which cherry blossoms  
Were quite foreign,  
Then perhaps in spring  
Our hearts would know peace.

It was Eric's day off. He'd tried to rest and relax, but what he really wanted was to go to work. Finally he'd decided to take a long walk. He'd passed by a florist stand in Little Havana where he'd paused for a moment. Normally, he had no interest in flowers at all, unless they were pertinent to a case, but there was a crate of large white flowers labeled "Calla lilies." When he first glanced at it, he'd thought for a moment that the sign had spelled her name. He touched one, examining it.

He smiled to himself and walked away, and ached with missing her.

Added to the memory of the innocent kiss on the cheek was the incident in the arson investigation. He still heard her whisper echoing in his mind. _Eric. _He still had no idea what it meant. Thinking about it had kept him up at night. If she didn't have feelings for him, why did she say his name like that?

Carl Sandburg, "Evening Waterfall":

What was the name you called me?-  
And why did you go so soon?

The crows lift their caw on the wind,  
And the wind changed and was lonely.

The warblers cry their sleepy-songs  
Across the valley gloaming,  
Across the cattle-horns of early stars.

Feathers and people in the crotch of a treetop  
Throw an evening waterfall of sleepy-songs.

What was the name you called me?-  
And why did you go so soon?

Calleigh flipped open her cell phone, bit her lip, and closed it again.

The afternoon was growing later. The blue-gray clouds seemed ready to rain again at any moment. She was walking along a row of restaurants, bars, and shops next to the beach.

She hesitated, then dropped her phone in her purse. She looked at her hand. Her fingerprint was still interrupted by a scar from the glass that had pricked it, but it was healing quickly. Each time she saw it she was reminded so vividly of that moment, of Eric's touch. How could this be happening? how could she be so torn between two different men?

He'd looked away, she reminded herself. As near as she could recall of her feelings at that moment, in that house, she'd been transfixed by his touch, unable to resist his eyes. She might have kissed him - right then, not even caring that they would be seen - if he hadn't broken eye contact. Wasn't that body language for "not interested"? She had no real reason to believe he had feelings for her. He hadn't done or said anything to indicate he did. Nothing she could think of, aside from the occasional lingering glance or softening of his voice when he spoke to her, all of which could have been nothing more than her imagination.

Jake, though, he made no secret that he was still interested in her.

The choice should have been so simple.

She looked out over the steel gray waves of the ocean and sighed.

Anonymous, _Kokinshu _409:

In the gloaming  
Across Akashi Bay  
Through the morning mists  
Vanishing between the islands  
I follow a boat with my thoughts.

Some kind of bird cried out overhead, somewhere between the city and the low, dark clouds. Eric sighed. This was crazy. It was just a crush, wasn't it? It was supposed to be wearing off. He shouldn't be feeling like this, like he was coming down with a fever, except he knew that seeing her would make it go away. It seemed like everything reminded him of her.

Even the overcast, threatening sky made him think of how much just seeing her would make the day seem brighter.

Maybe he should call her, ask if she wanted to hang out. But she would see right through it. Of course she would. He might as well just call her and tell her... Tell her what? That he couldn't stop thinking about her? What could he say that wouldn't sound completely absurd?

He tossed away the flower he didn't remember picking - a small purple weed he didn't know the name of - and sighed.

Thomas Hardy:

I say, "I'll seek her side  
Ere hindrance interposes;"  
But eve in midnight closes  
And here I still abide.

When darkness wears I see  
Her sad eyes in a vision;  
They ask, "What indecision  
Detains you, Love, from me?

"The creaking hinge is oiled,  
I have unbarred the backway,  
But you tread not the trackway;  
And shall the thing be spoiled?

"For cockcrows echo shrill,  
The shadows are abating  
And I am waiting, waiting;  
But O, you tarry still!"

She couldn't quite convince herself that whatever there was between her and Eric was all in her mind.

But maybe it was. Technically she was his superior. She had to be careful; if something did happen with Eric and it ended badly, she might not just lose her friend, but also her career.

No. She had to stop thinking like that. There wasn't a choice to be made between Eric and Jake: Eric was strictly off-limits. Simple as that. Eric wasn't the long-term type. She knew that. Jake, though...things could work out with Jake. He was nice, he was fun, he was a cop and would understand her long hours and commitment. She cared for him deeply, she still did, and when she remembered their time together at the Academy a nostalgic longing tugged at her heart. Eric was just a friend, and that was how it would stay. Eric was not an option.

Good. That was settled. Now if only she could get the thought of him out of her head, the feeling of his touch off her skin...

The rain began to fall.

Murasaki Shikibu:

The colors remain, here on the Islet of Oranges.  
But where go I, a boat upon the waters?

He took out his cell phone, flipped it open, and scrolled to her number. His thumb hovered over the "send" button for a few seconds, then he closed the phone. What would he say? He wasn't even sure what he was feeling, couldn't quite articulate even in his own head what was happening to him, what was happening between them. He'd always been so smooth with women, and he was always so comfortable with her, why did he feel so clumsy just imagining asking her out?

The storm he'd seen moving across the city reached him. He took shelter in a cafe to see if it would pass. He opened his phone again.

A few miles away, at the beachfront, Calleigh sat at a covered bus stop. She took out her phone, opened it, bit her lip. She was just about to dial when her phone started buzzing in her hand, the caller's name flashing on its screen.

It was Jake. For a moment, she didn't feel like answering it. But she did. "Hey. What's up?"

Back at the cafe, Eric closed his phone again, without dialing, and ordered a coffee.

Fujiwara no Toshiyuki, _Kokinshu _639:

As pale daylight breaks,  
I start for the long road home.  
Walking in heartache,  
first teardrops and then raindrops  
soak through the sleeves of my robe.


	33. Evening Song

Sources: _Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair_, Pablo Neruda, trans. W.S. Merwin; _A Study of Poetry, _ed. Don M. Wolfe

Chronology: Season 8.

Pablo Neruda, "In My Sky at Twilight," trans. W.S. Merwin:

_This poem is a paraphrase of the 30th_ _poem in  
Rabindranath Tagore's _The Gardener.

In my sky at twilight you are like a cloud  
and your form and colour are the way I love them.  
You are mine, mine, woman with sweet lips  
and in your life my infinite dreams live.

The lamp of my soul dyes your feet,  
My sour wine is sweeter on your lips,  
oh reaper of my evening song,  
how solitary dreams believe you to be mine!

You are mine, mine, I go shouting it to the afternoon's  
wind, and the wind hauls on my widowed voice.  
Huntress of the depths of my eyes, your plunder  
stills your nocturnal regard as though it were water.

You are taken in the net of my music, my love,  
and my nets of music are wide as the sky.  
My soul is born on the shore of your eyes of mourning.  
In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begins.

Sixteen hours after millionaire international businessman Gibson Clyde was bludgeoned to death with an antique bronze statuette in his own living room, the murderer was led away in handcuffs.

Clyde's mansion was in a wealthy Miami neighborhood where a string of robberies, totaling a few million dollars, had recently occurred. Even though nothing seemed to be missing from his house, it was a reasonable assumption that the crimes were related.

Eric had identified a suspect - Gibson Clyde's 25-year-old gambling-addicted nephew, who was expected to be the main beneficiary of his will - when he noticed a seed pod stuck to his shoe that matched a rare plant he'd seen in one of the burglarized houses. Calleigh had devised a strategy to get the suspect to incriminate himself by "accidentally" letting him overhear her telling Eric a computer stolen in one of the robberies had been fitted with a GPS locator, and as soon as the satellite it was connected to came into range, they would be able to find where the thief hid the loot. As expected, as soon as their suspect was released he made a beeline for the shack in the Everglades where he'd hidden the computer and the other stolen items. The next time he turned around brought him face-to-face with Horatio and Frank, who'd followed him using the tracking device they'd planted on his car.

To reward them for closing the high-profile case so quickly, Horatio offered Eric and Calleigh a day off. They accepted, and decided to take a trip.

That was how they came to be on a Key Largo beach at sunset.

The waves lapped at Calleigh's feet as she stood barefoot in the sand, carrying her high-heeled shoes in one hand.

Eric paused at the edge of the parking lot to take in the view of Calleigh silhouetted against the silver, gold, and orange sea and sky. He reveled in his freedom to gaze at her in open adoration.

She smiled softly, knowing he was looking at her, then turned toward him. Her eyes were sparkling. Her countenance was full of the dignity, confidence, an inborn self-assurance that Eric had always admired. But there was more in her expression now; not vulnerability, but a kind of devotion, outward-looking, as she searched for something she could rely on outside herself, and found it in him.

He quickly crossed the stretch of beach between them and kissed her. At first only their lips touched, but after several seconds Calleigh reached out, her hand that wasn't holding her shoes took his arm. When the kiss ended, she leaned her head against his chest. With their arms around each other, they stood at the border between land and ocean and watched the sunset.

"Look," she whispered as the last rays of sunlight flashed green.

His smile grew and he held her closer. _Look_, she'd said, in a childlike whisper of delight, and he wondered how there had ever been a time before he loved her. Whenever he noticed her resilience and ingenuousness in spite of everything she'd been through and seen in her difficult life, his admiration for her grew. "Beautiful."

They just stood there holding each other as the clouds changed from brilliant pink to rusty red.

"I'm so happy," Calleigh stated.

"Me too." He kissed her hair. "It's such a perfect night."

"With you, I mean." She turned toward him. "I'm so happy being with you. Happier than I've ever been in my life."

His eyes searched hers. She was telling the truth. "You have no idea how much I've wanted to hear that."

"I know. And I'm sorry it took me so long to say. I was afraid. For a long time."

"Afraid of what?"

"I don't know, exactly. Afraid I'd fall in love with you only to lose you, afraid that you didn't feel the same way, afraid that I'd disappoint you. And it's not just you; I thought that fear was just part of loving someone. I think maybe because of how I was raised, I always felt like, no matter how much I loved or trusted other people, I could only really count on myself. But it's different now." With her arms around his neck, she gazed at him. "I'm not afraid anymore."

He didn't know what to say to that, so he kissed her. She pulled herself closer to him. Then Eric drew back and gazed into her eyes. "You've never disappointed me, Cal."

"I'm sorry it took me so long to give you a chance."

"That's not important."

She kissed him again. It felt so natural to kiss him that sometimes it seemed to take a physical effort not to. It was like breathing. There were so many things she wanted to say to him, so many things going through her mind, but her lips rejected the suggestion that they break away from his long enough to form words.

Quite soon, they both found themselves sinking to the sand. They paused to rest, and realized it had grown dark. The stars were already speckling the dark blue sky. But more amazing was the ocean, where the crashing waves disturbed bioluminescent dinoflagellates. Thousands of the microorganisms would glow together to mark the edges of waves with unearthly blue light.

"I haven't seen anything like this since my family took a camping trip to the Gulf Coast when I was fourteen," Calleigh said.

"I haven't since a diving trip I took in college." He entwined his fingers with hers. "We should get out of the city more often."

They spent a few minutes in silence. The sky was dark now except for the white stars and a band of deep orange along the western horizon.

"Calleigh, I want to say something."

"Anything."

She could feel his heart beating harder as he prepared to speak. His words came slowly and quietly. "I love you so much. More than I've ever loved anyone. And I know that, with the risks that come with our jobs, and after losing Speedle and Marisol...something could happen to one of us at any time. And I know how much it will hurt when that time comes...but I'll always love you, no matter what. And I'll never regret that." He glanced away, feeling very inarticulate. "I don't know how much sense that made."

"It makes perfect sense," she answered. "And I feel the same way." At that moment, the dangers of their job, the pains of their pasts, the tragedies they saw every day, and whatever the uncertain future might bring seemed very far away, unreal, unimportant. It was moments like this that made love worth it.

Sidney Lanier, "Evening Song":

Look off, dear Love, across the sallow sands,  
And mark yon meeting of the sun and sea,  
How long they kiss in sight of all the lands.  
Ah! longer, longer, we.

Now in the sea's red vintage melts the sun,  
As Egypt's pearl dissolved in rosy wine,  
And Cleopatra night drinks all. 'Tis done,  
Love, lay thine hand in mine.

Come forth, sweet stars, and comfort heaven's heart;  
Glimmer, ye waves, round else unlighted sands.  
O night! divorce our sun and sky apart  
Never our lips, our hands.


	34. Hands

Sources: _Tale of Genji, _trans. Edward Seidensticker; _No Bliss Like This_, compiled by Jill Hollis ; _Love Poems, _ed. Peter Washington.

Chronology: "Kill Switch" and "Born to Kill."

_Tales of Ise_ 49:

A pity indeed if grasses so sweet, so inviting,  
Were taken and bound by another hand than mine.

Eric was beginning to have trouble remembering what it was like to not have Calleigh on his mind all the time. He was having dreams about her. His efforts to convince himself it was just a crush were less efficacious every time he saw her.

He was bringing her a file when he saw her on the phone. A smile so wide it crinkled her cheeks lit her beautiful face. He paused at the door to not interrupt her, and to admire her for a moment. She turned toward him, and he pushed open the glass door, hoping she hadn't caught him gazing.

She put down her cell phone and looked up at him.

"Hey," he said. "Good to see that smile."

"It's nothing," she said.

"Was that Jake?" Eric was smiling, trying to convince himself he was just happy to see her happy, no matter what the cause.

"Um, yeah. I told him that if people would stop killing each other we could have a proper meal. Is that info on the carjacker?"

"Yeah." He was grateful to have the case to focus on. He wished so much that he could be the reason for a smile like that on Calleigh's face.

She had worried when she saw Eric that he would ask about the phone call. She'd been reluctant to talk about it, but he'd seemed happy for her. Maybe she was wrong that he had feelings for her.

She wasn't sure whether she wanted that to be true. She loved spending time with Jake. She wanted to give Jake a chance. She knew that she couldn't get involved with Eric, for so many reasons. But there was a part of her that wanted to know Eric felt the same way about her.

When Jake was in an accident while transporting their prisoner, Calleigh was afraid she would lose him just when she was getting him back.

'Marnia', "Accoutrement":

But lovers are like umbrellas arnt they?  
They're like gloves  
They cover us, they keep you warm  
They look so good, they fit so nice  
they shield you.  
Then you leave them on a train  
You think 'How did I manage that?'  
And 'I didn't like them anyway.'  
Or 'I've lost them.'

"I spoke to the ER; Jake's gonna be alright," she mentioned as she and Eric gathered evidence from around the crash sight.

"Well I'm sure he would _love_ for you to go visit him in the hospital," Eric replied.

There was something about the way he said it that caught Calleigh's attention. Eric hadn't meant to reveal his jealousy - he was still in denial about it himself - but his words sounded like he was trying to goad Calleigh into admitting her attachment to Jake.

She didn't like it. "Yeah, you know what, I came to see _you_ at the hospital too," she tersely reminded him.

"Yeah." Eric looked at her. "That was different."

That was all he dared say. All he needed to say. With those few words, his tone, and his eyes he challenged her to tell him that she didn't have feelings for him. And revealing that he cared about how she felt about Jake and about him implicitly admitted his feelings for her.

"It is different," she said forcefully, "because you and I work together."

"You work with Jake, too," he pointed out. Now that the issue that had been simmering beneath the surface for months was out in the open, he had to know how she felt, had to know if he had a chance.

"He's in Homicide. You and I are in the lab day and night."

Eric looked down, nodding slightly. It was basically the same thing she'd told him ten years ago, when they first met.

Calleigh saw the pain in his face, and it hurt her, because she did care for him, but she knew that just because you care deeply for someone doesn't mean being with them wouldn't be a bad idea. "You know that I trust you with my life," she said placatingly. "I don't even know how I feel about Jake yet."

They looked at each other. Calleigh's eyes were the same shadowy green as the verdure behind her, and Eric realized once again how beautiful she was. But she had told him she wasn't interested. It was what he wanted: a clear yes-or-no answer. She'd let him down easy, but she'd still made her feelings clear.

She was right, of course: they worked together. Eric could accept that. But it hurt. It hurt because putting his feelings for her into words, even such indirect words, made them sharper, made him realize how much he really wanted her. It wasn't just a crush.

"Alright, maybe we should get back to work," he said, doing a good job of convincing himself that that was that.

It wouldn't last long.

Robert Graves, "Symptoms of Love":

Love is a universal migraine,  
A bright stain on the vision  
Blotting out reason.

Symptoms of true love  
Are leanness, jealousy,  
Laggard dawns;

Are omens and nightmares-  
Listening for a knock,  
Waiting for a sign:

For a touch of her fingers  
In a darkened room,  
For a searching look.

Take courage, lover!  
Could you endure such grief  
At any hand but hers?


	35. Heartbreak

Sources: Geoffry Chaucer, _The Canterbury Tales; Masterpieces of the Orient_, ed. G.L. Anderson

Chronology: "Born to Kill."

Geoffry Chaucer, from _The Canterbury Tales_:

Now look ye, is not this an high folly?  
Who may not be a fool, if but he love?  
Behold, for Gode's sake that sits above,  
See how they bleed! be they not well array'd?  
Thus hath their lord, the god of love, them paid  
Their wages and their fees for their service;  
And yet they weene for to be full wise,  
That serve love, for aught that may befall.

The case was solved, the girl kidnapped by the serial killer was safe. Eric felt good about it. He was still bothered by his conversation with Calleigh earlier, but he told himself he shouldn't be. He tried to convince himself to feel good about that, too, because now he finally knew for sure that she didn't return his feelings, so he could finally let go of his crush and move on.

He was working in the lab when he saw Jake Berkeley in the hall. Calleigh was talking to him, checking to make sure he was alright. Eric was just sure Jake would be playing up his injuries to bask in her sympathy.

Jake pointed to a spot on his jaw, which Calleigh leaned forward to examine. He took advantage of her closeness to kiss her.

This was no small, tentative kiss. This was a passionate, possessive kiss. At first, Calleigh was too stunned to respond, but then as hormones flooded her body she melted into the kiss, enjoying it as the feelings Jake inspired displaced all other concerns.

Eric forced himself to look away. He couldn't stand to see this. He wished so much that he could be in Jake's place.

Later, while talking about this moment with his therapist, he would try to sort out what he was feeling. He was envious of Jake, jealous of Calleigh, angry, sad, ashamed that he was feeling all these things he had no right to feel. He wanted to disappear, and stop feeling anything.

When Jake left, Calleigh's head was still reeling. It had been a long time since anyone had kissed her like that!

It wasn't until she stepped into the elevator that her mind began to clear and the thrill wore off. Eric was looking at her; he'd seen the kiss. She couldn't quite place the look on his face: it wasn't jealous, or accusatory, or even hurt. Not quite. It was the face of someone who'd just lost something.

She looked away as the elevator doors closed. Eric had no right to disapprove of her kissing Jake, but she wasn't angry at him. She was sorry that she'd hurt him. And, though she was barely aware of it, she felt like she'd just lost something, too.

Anonymous, from _Subhasitaratnakosa_, trans. Daniel H. Ingalls:

Behold the skill  
of the bowman, Love;  
that leaving the body whole,  
he breaks the heart within.


	36. Mitarashi

Author's note: 200 reviews! Wow! I never expected to get this many. Thanks reviewers!

Sources: _The Tale of Genji; Love Poems  
_

Chronology: post "Born to Kill"

Tales of Ise 65:

For an end of love I prayed at Mitarashi.  
It seems the gods declined to hear my prayer.

Eric placed a lily at Marisol's grave, next to a wilting rose that he was sure had come from Horatio. He looked at them for a moment before speaking, quietly. "Hey, sis." He swallowed. The pain of losing her was still so raw. "I know it's been a couple weeks since I've come by. I'm sorry. I still think about you every day." He took a deep breath. "I've kind of had a rough week." He paused again. "It happened, Mari. Remember when you said someday I'd get my heart broken? You were right."

It was a pleasant afternoon. A light cloud cover and a steady breeze kept the humidity tolerable. The sun was just visible through the pearlescent clouds. Eric watched as a small bird darted by, chasing an insect.

"Maybe it's karma," he said, continuing his musings, feeling a need to articulate his suffering. "That might be what she'd tell me. I've broken my share of hearts; I guess this is payback." He fell silent again and absently plucked at a leaf of grass. "I keep trying to figure out how this happened. How I could let this happen. But maybe I couldn't avoid it." He glanced around the cemetery. "She's so beautiful, Marisol. Do you remember her? Calleigh Duquesne. I can't believe it took me so long to see it." He was quiet for a moment as somewhere off in the distance a tow-truck beeped as it backed up.

"I'm in love with her," he admitted for the first time. He rushed on, feeling a need to explain himself, even though he was only talking to his dead sister. "I've been in love before. You know how I am about that. But this is different. I've never felt like this. I love just being with her, no matter what we're doing. Everything makes me think of her. I kept thinking it would just go away, but it didn't." The ghost of a smile that had grown on his lips as he spoke sunk to a frown. "I wish it would. She's in love with someone else, and it hurts so much." He glanced down, and then back to the gravestone. "A taste of my own medicine..." He rested his hand on her name. "I wish you were here. I could really use your advice about now. I wish I could just hear you tell me that it's going to be okay, that I can get over this. I think I'd believe you." He sighed. "Right now I think you're the only one who could get me to believe that."

W.B. Yeats, "The Folly of Being Comforted":

One that is ever kind said yesterday:  
'Your well-beloved's hair has threads of grey,  
And little shadows come about her eyes;  
Time can but make it easier to be wise  
Though now it seems impossible, and so  
All that you need is patience.'  
Heart cries, 'No,  
I have not a crumb of comfort, not a grain.  
Time can but make her beauty over again:  
Because of that great nobleness of hers  
The fire that stirs about her, when she stirs,  
Burns but more clearly, O she had not these ways  
When all the wild summer was in her gaze.'

O heart! O heart! if she'd but turn her head,  
You'd know the folly of being comforted.


	37. Any Way the Wind Blows

Sources: _Only Companion; Love Poems _

Chronology: "Urban Hellraisers."

Fujiwara no Tokihira, _Kokinshu _230:

The maidenflower  
bends to every autumn wind  
and I must wonder:  
to whom does she give her heart  
here in the late fall meadow?

Some pessimistic voice deep inside her wondered if she was doomed to be alone the rest of her life. She suppressed the thought and tried to focus on the positive: they'd solved the case. What did she care if Peter Elliott had gotten engaged without even telling her he was seeing someone? Without even asking her about her real relationship with Detective Hagen?

She walked into the break room and stopped short when she saw Eric sitting at the table sipping coffee. "Hey," she greeted him. "You're here late."

"So are you," he pointed out.

"I had to finish some paperwork on the arrest." She got a cup of coffee and sat down across from him. "You've been working a lot of overtime lately," she noted.

"What's wrong with that?"

She raised an eyebrow at his defensiveness. "Is it so you can flirt with that new DNA analyst? I think she likes you."

He gave her a look, and a somewhat guilty smile. That wasn't the reason he'd been working so much overtime, but it didn't hurt to let Calleigh think that. "You should talk. I thought you'd be out celebrating closing the case with your Special Agent Elliott."

Calleigh's smile fell away. "Something came up."

Eric leaned forward, concerned by her sudden change in demeanor. "What happened?"

"Nothing." She forced a smile. "Just that...when I went to the hospital with him, I met his fiancee."

He stared at her. He knew Elliott had been interested in her - that was obvious - and that Calleigh liked him. How could Elliott do that to her? Why would anyone hurt Calleigh like that? "I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "It's fine. He was going to tell me about it, but didn't get the chance." She was doing a good job of hiding how hurt she was, but could tell Eric wasn't buying it. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow," she said, standing up and throwing away her coffee cup, and leaving before he had a chance to offer sympathy.

Bhartrhari, "She Who Is Always in My Thoughts," trans. John Brough:

She who is always in my thoughts prefers  
Another man, and does not think of me.  
Yet he seeks for another's love, not hers;  
And some poor girl is grieving for my sake.  
Why then, the devil take  
Both her and him; and love; and her; and me.


	38. Distance

Sources: _Great Short Poems, _ed. Paul Negri; _Tales of Ise; Manyoshu  
_

Chronology: Between Season 5 and Season 6.

Paul Laurence Dunbar:

We wear the mask that grins and lies,  
It hides our cheeks and shades out eyes-  
This debt we pay to human guile;  
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile  
And mouth with myriad subtleties.

Why should the world be overwise,  
In counting all our tears and sighs?  
Nay, let them only see us, while  
We wear the mask.

We smile, but O great Christ, our cries  
To Thee from tortured souls arise.  
We sing, but oh the clay is vile  
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;  
But let the world dream otherwise,  
We wear the mask!

Though Calleigh never talked about it around him, Eric knew she and Jake were now together. He would see them sometimes, meeting outside the lab after work. He tried not to let it bother him. He tried to tell himself he was fine with it. And he tried to act completely professional when he was working with either of them. On that last count, he nearly succeeded most of the time.

He dated a few women, trying to put Calleigh out of his minds, but the dates never led to a second date, or even so much as a goodnight kiss. After a few such failed attempts, he decided to just stop trying and see if his feelings for Calleigh would fade away on their own.

In the meantime, there were cases to solve, bad guys to catch.

Tales of Ise 19:

I still see you,  
And yet  
You have grown distant  
As a cloud  
In the heavens.

Calleigh was happy. She really was. Jake had grown up a lot since the last time they dated. He was more considerate, more serious, even willing to admit when he was wrong. She loved being with him. They could talk for hours, make each other laugh, cheer each other up after a hard day. It was good for her.

She couldn't quite tell if Eric minded. They were a little less casual when they worked together now, but that was about the only change. She was sure he would get over it. He was so flighty with the women who caught his interest, he would move on to his next fling in no time, she told herself. And whenever she wondered if she'd made the right choice, she didn't let herself dwell on it for long. She _had _made a choice, for many good reasons, and she had never in her life left one man for another and would not even consider doing so now. Because of these thoughts, she did nothing to address the growing distance between them.

In the meantime, her relationship with Jake was moving quickly.

"Antigua?" she asked incredulously, holding the two tickets he'd given her as a surprise present.

"Yeah. We just wrapped up that big drug bust; I think we both deserve a vacation. Especially you," Jake cajoled.

"Well, I won't argue with you there, but _Antigua?_"

"It'll be fun. Come on. Don't make me go through the hassle of returning your ticket." He flashed her that rakish smile she could never resist. "You have to admit it would be fun."

Calleigh's reluctance melted away. "Tell you what, tomorrow I'll ask Horatio if he can spare me for a few days, and if I get his okay we'll go."

When Eric heard about Calleigh's request for vacation time, he was sure she would spend it with Jake. He wondered how it could hurt so much to lose something he never had in the first place.

Otomo Yakamochi, Manyoshu 719:

How I waste and waste away  
With love forlorn -  
I who have thought myself  
A strong man!


	39. The Cut

Author's note: This may just be wishful thinking, but I think they're just taking Eric away for a little while so we'll appreciate him more when he comes back.

Sources: _Immortal Poems of the English Language; Kokinshu_

Chronology: "Bad Seed"

William Shakespeare, Sonnet 87:

Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,  
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate:  
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;  
My bonds in thee are all determinate.  
For how do I hold thee but by thy granting?  
And for that riches where is my deserving?  
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,  
And so my patent back again is swerving.

Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing,  
Or me, to whom though gav'st it, else mistaking;  
So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,  
Comes home again, on better judgement making.  
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter  
In sleep a king; but waking, no such matter

She heard the locker on the other side of hers open. That was _his _locker. But she thought he'd gone home hours ago. "Eric?"

"Hey Calleigh," he said, sounding tired, his voice more gravelly than usual. "What are you still doing here?"

"I just needed to catch up on some of my cases." She decided to take the opportunity to confront him, but was afraid to find out her suspicions were right. At least she couldn't see him; this would be so much harder to say if she were looking at him. "So I figured out what you're doing."

"I can't wait to hear where this is going."

"You're leaving CSI, aren't you."

He closed his locker and walked around to face her, dropping his duffel bag on the bench. "You always were good at reading me," he said, and there was fondness in his voice and sadness in his smile. "Look, um, let's not tell anybody else for now, 'cause I don't feel like answering lots of questions."

"I wouldn't," she assured him. But there was one question she felt like she deserved an answer to, if only because it might be her. "So why are you goin'?"

"A lot of reasons."

"Life's too short?" she asked with a breathy laugh. She was trying her hardest not to show the sadness and guilt she felt.

"Yeah, basically." He smiled. In spite of the gravity of the subject, it felt good just to talk to her, like putting balm on the wound in his heart even as it was being cut. He was grateful to her for not making it sound like cowardice.

With an unsuccessful attempt at forced levity, Calleigh asked, "And what about you and me?"

He smiled at the hint that she didn't want their relationship to end, but didn't know how to answer.

"I guess CSI's not the only game in town," she mused. As long as he stayed in the city, as long as he stayed close, maybe there was hope for them. After all, a lot of people dated without working together.

He tilted his head, like he did when acknowledging a point. "Like I said," he whispered because of the lump in his throat, and then continued a moment later when he was sure his voice would work again, "you know me too well."

He moved closer to her. She smiled at his nearness. He kissed her - a soft, quick peck - then pulled her into an embrace. Her eyes closed for a moment as she drew comfort from his touch. When she drew away, her hands slid down his arms to settle in his hands. They looked at each other. She wanted him to say something more. She was dying for him to say something more - she didn't know what, just some promise that she wasn't losing him.

But he only looked at her. His beautiful dark eyes drank in the face of the woman he adored. Then he turned and walked away.

Calleigh's mouth opened, but there were no words. It was her fault he was leaving; that was what kept her from running after him. But still...she couldn't stand that he was walking away, leaving her with that, leaving her with nothing. What happiness she'd felt left the room with him, and a crushing sorrow rushed in to fill the vacuum. She stood there, confused and alone, and fought the tears.

She couldn't read him as well as he thought._ You know me too well_... What was that supposed to mean? Too well for what? Too well for him to be with her?

Had that been a goodbye kiss?

Anonymous, _Kokinshu _762:

cutting us apart  
now like the trailing ivy-  
can he mean to part  
sending me not even a  
whisper on the blowing wind


	40. Jest

Sources: _The Tale of Genji; No Bliss Like This  
_

Chronology: post "Bad Seed."

Anonymous, _Kokinshu_ 1025:

I wondered if even in jest I could do without you.  
I gave it a try, to which I proved unequal.

Getting home late from work one night, Calleigh turned on her living room lights and froze in place. On the coffee table was a vase of yellow tulips.

"Eric!" she gasped.

"How did you know I was here?"

She jumped and spun around at the sound of his voice. He was standing beside the door, smiling.

"I didn't. You're just the only one who would...What are you doing here?" They hadn't spoken outside work since their conversation in the locker room, days ago.

He took a step forward, his smile gone. "I wanted to talk to you...And you haven't called," he added quietly.

"Neither have you," she pointed out, the softness of her voice making her words sound like a line of poetry rather than a complaint or accusation. "And you're the one who walked away."

He knew she was talking about that night in the locker room. They were both getting off work. It would have been easy - the obvious choice, really - for them to have left together, go to dinner or just find some quiet place to talk. They needed to talk. But he'd walked out, barely saying a word. "I'm sorry."

She smiled and shook her head. "I don't want you to apologize. But an explanation would be nice."

He stood looking at her, wishing he could just wrap his arms around her. He wanted to take away all the pain he'd caused her. "You deserve an explanation," he agreed. "A better one than I can give you. It took me a while to figure out why I did that, myself. And I'm not really proud of the answer I came up with."

She watched him, waiting for him to continue.

"You know," he began slowly, "I love you more than anything else in the world."

"That's what had me so confused," she said.

"I walked away because I was so overwhelmed at the moment that I couldn't figure out what I was feeling. But mostly, I think, because I wanted you to stop me."

"You wanted me to stop you?"

"I told you I'm not proud of it."

"You mean you wanted me to ask you to stay at CSI?"

He shook his head. "Not CSI; with you. I wanted you to tell me you loved me, that you couldn't stand to lose me. I wanted you to say everything I feel about you. So I'm sorry. I was being selfish. I'm here because I know that shouldn't matter to me, that if I really love you so much, that's not something I should even ask for."

"You're right," she said. "That's not something you should have to ask for."

He lowered his eyes, ashamed of his confession, but a second later her fingers on his chin raised his face to look her in the eyes.

"Because I should've told you that a long time ago. I don't want to lose you, Eric. Ever. I love you so much." It was all she could say. She couldn't tell him how hurt she'd been, and how terrified that her worst fears were coming true: she'd finally let herself fall in love with him only to lose him, to have him leave her like Jake had. A heart could only take so much.

One tear escaped her eye. "I'm sorry," she whispered, wiping it away.

Eric stared at her. He was so used to her concealing her feelings beneath her cheerful composure that the emotions he'd just seen cross her face had shocked him. He hadn't known how much he'd hurt her. He'd had no idea she loved him that much. He berated himself for the days and weeks he'd let pass without a reconciliation since the shooting, and knew he could never hurt her again, and that he loved her with every molecule in his body.

He didn't trust himself to speak, because his brain could only think of two words, and this wasn't the right time for them. He wanted to find a perfect time, perfect place, and perfect way to ask that question, to get down on one knee with the perfect ring in hand and perfectly enunciate the perfect words-because she deserved no less. So he stood there, speechless, while another tear rolled down her cheek. Finally he reached for her, wrapped his arms around her, and held her. She closed her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said again, not even sure what she was apologizing for this time.

He knew he had to says something. "Marry me," he murmured accidentally.

She drew back slowly and looked at him, not sure she'd heard him right. "What did you say?"

"I said don't be. You have nothing to be sorry about."

She was almost sure that wasn't what he'd said before, but decided after a moment to accept it. She let him pull her close again. "I can't lose you."

"You won't."

"Don't leave. Please?"

He swallowed, resisting the impulse to say those words again. "I won't. I promise."

Helen Hunt Jackson, "Tides":

O patient shore, that canst not go to meet  
Thy love, the restless sea, how comfortest  
Thou all they loneliness? Art thou at rest,  
When, loosing his strong arms from round thy feet,  
He turns away? Know'st thou, however sweet  
That other shore may be, that to thy breast  
He must return? And when in sterner test  
He folds thee to a heart which does not beat,  
Wraps thee in ice, and gives no smile, no kiss,  
To break long wintry days, still dost thou miss  
Naught from thy trust? Still wait, unfaltering,  
The higher, warmer waves which leap in spring?  
O sweet, wise shore, to be so satisfied!  
O heart, learn from the shore! Love has a tide!


	41. Out of Mind

Sources: _The Sound of Water, _trans. Sam Hamill; _Tales of Ise_; _Birdsong_, trans. Coleman Barks

Chronology: "Dangerous Son"

Issa, trans. Sam Hamill:

In the midst of this world  
we stroll along the roof of hell  
gawking at flowers

"Morning Officer Pretty," Jake said when Calleigh walked up to him at the murder scene. He was staring at her like he was meeting the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen for the first time, even though they'd gotten back from vacationing together only the previous night. Calleigh couldn't help but smile at the flattery.

"Did you get a chance to talk to the victim's wife?" she asked, trying to focus on the case instead of her boyfriend.

"I'm trying. She's in Europe visiting family." Jake went on to speculate the wife had been born into money.

"Well that would explain the house," Calleigh noted.

"I don't get it," he said. "If you're sitting on this kind of dough, why grind it out as a probation officer?"

"I don' know; maybe he wanted to make a difference," she replied. She completely got why someone would choose a difficult and poorly compensated career out of passion and dedication for the work, and she was a little annoyed that Jake didn't.

He raised his eyebrows, picking up on the edge in her tone. "Well when I find my sugar momma, I'm trading in the cruiser for a Bentley," he joked.

She laughed. For a moment they grew quiet, gazing at each other. Then Calleigh forced their conversation back to business. "What did you find in the house?"

"No forced entry. The victim let the shooter in."

"I guess our murder weapon hitched a ride on the getaway boat."

"Just running down a list of the victim's probationers and I'm on my way to find the boat," Jake assured her.

"All right. Well good luck with that," she teased before walking away with a smile.

Tales of Ise 22:

Cruel though you have been,  
I cannot put you  
From my mind,  
And thus my bitterness  
Is tempered with love.

Eric was pulling a bullet from the wall of the house when he heard someone enter.

"Hey Eric," Calleigh said brightly, still smiling from her banter with Jake.

He glanced her way. "Nice tan."

"Five days in Antigua. First vacation I've had in a long time."

Eric turned back to the wall. He knew he shouldn't be surprised or hurt that she didn't seem to realize how much he'd missed her over those five days, and how hard he'd tried not to think about her. "I saw Jake outside. He had the same tan."

Calleigh's smile faded. Somehow she'd expected Eric would have gotten over it by now. His infatuations never lasted long. She decided not to say anything, pretend she didn't notice his attitude. "What did you get from the wall?" she inquired.

They switched to discussing the case, all thoughts of Jake, the vacation, and the feelings between them dropped away.

When Eric arrived at the beach where Jake had found the getaway boat, after exchanging a few words about the case, he couldn't help but ask, "How was Antigua?" He was careful to make the question sound casually conversational.

"It was nice," Jake replied with a smile that showed he was thinking about more than the climate.

The answer confirmed some things Eric had already suspected: they had vacationed together, meaning their relationship was serious, and Jake didn't know that Eric had feelings for Calleigh. She hadn't told him, and Berkeley was apparently not that good of a detective.

Jake got a phone call, and Eric walked away to join the object of their affections on the boat. "Calleigh, what do we got?"

"Forty caliber casing," she answered. "Same casing as you pulled from the wall at the crime scene." Her wind-tossed hair caught the sunlight, her black blouse and jeans brought out her figure, and Eric, with a twinge of jealousy, noted what a lucky man Jake was.

"SWAT's incidence report indicates he fired one round from his boat." He peered at the casing, which was severely dented. "What the hell happened to it?"

"I don't know; it was crushed by something on the boat."

"Only thing that could do that kind of damage would've been the engine."

Calleigh opened the engine compartment and tried to visualize how the casing could have fallen into it, been knocked out, and ended up on the deck.

Eric scratched his head. "How would you ride with that hatch open while the engine's running? Just causes extra drag."

Calleigh reached down into the engine and pulled out a small bag. "Hey mama!" She turned to show Eric her find. "Maybe because you need to get to your drug stash."

"Oh..."

Jake called to them from the beach to tell them the name of the cafe where the boat was registered.

"The kid I talked to - Kyle - he got a job at that place," Eric said. "Maybe the owner believes in second chances."

"Unfortunately, not everybody deserves one," Calleigh replied.

She was only thinking of the murderer, who was in all likelihood one of the victim's probationers. But Eric, still musing on the situation with him and Calleigh and Jake, thought there might have been a hidden meaning in her words. He tried to think of a time when she'd given him a chance. Nothing came to mind, but the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced her remark had been aimed at him.

He decided to let her go. He loved her, but she loved Jake, and he was just going to have to learn to accept it.

Rumi:

I realize that the dawn  
when we'll meet again  
will never break,

so I give it up,  
little by little, this love.

But something in me laughs  
as I say this, someone

shaking his head and chuckling  
softly, _Hardly, hardly._


	42. Flowing Waters

Sources: _Kokinshu: A Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern_, translated by Laurel Rasplica Rodd and Mary Catherine Henkenius; information on PTSD from the _Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders IV._

Chronology: Season 5.

Miyako no Yoshika, Kokinshu 466:

flowing waters not  
even the source is known-  
river of lonely  
tears will the depths be known at  
last when it has turned to dust

Eric had been seeing the department therapist ever since Rick Stetler pressured him into it following the lost badge incident. It had helped him to deal with his unresolved feelings of loss and anxiety from Speedle's death. He came to value the therapy sessions even more after being shot.

"What's with the checklist? Is this some kind of test?" he asked, trying not to sound suspicious.

Dr. Nicolosi had hoped she could get through the questions without him realizing he was even being questioned, but knew Eric wouldn't be satisfied with a deflection now that he'd noticed something was up. He was an astute and persistent patient. Honesty would make him more cooperative at this point. "These are signs of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."

"The doctors at the hospital already said they don't think I have it."

"Delayed-onset Post-Traumatic Stress can show up months or even years after the traumatic event. It's important to keep on the lookout for the symptoms."

"I understand," Eric said, "I just don't have it."

"Yet," Dr. Nicolosi countered. "Eight percent of people suffer from PTSD at some point in their lives. It's not uncommon. You were shot and nearly died. That already covers Criterion A. And you've already admitted to experiencing Criterion B2."

"When?"

"When you told me you're having recurrent nightmares."

"But I don't have any of the other things you asked about," he insisted. "I haven't had dissociative states or anything like that. I don't feel sick when I hear a gunshot or walk through a parking lot. I can still do my job."

"No matter how many or how few of the symptoms you have, we need to identify and address them, before they do interfere with your job, potentially with fatal consequences."

He leaned back, arms folded, and waited for Dr. Nicolosi to continue.

"Lets move on to Criterion C1. Do you avoid thinking or talking about the traumatic event?"

He paused. He did try to put it out of his mind sometimes, and he didn't bring it up to his family or coworkers, but that was because he didn't want it to interfere with his job or make people worry about him. "No."

"Do you avoid people, places, or activities that remind you of the shooting?"

"If I did, I wouldn't have gone back to work. That's a definite no."

Dr. Nicolosi marked the "no" box for Criterion C2 in her notes. "We'll skip Criterion C3, because we've already established you have partial amnesia about the event, but we can't know how much of that is for physical rather than psychological reasons. Criterion C4: do you have diminished interest in activities you used to enjoy?"

Once again, he hesitated before answering. Since being shot, he hadn't gone out clubbing or gone scuba diving, which used to be his favorite recreational activities. But he still got as much gratification from investigating crimes and closing cases as he used to. "Does work count?"

"Did you enjoy your work?"

"Yeah. I love it."

"Then yes."

"Then no. I don't have Criterion C4."

She marked the box under "unsure" and continued. "Do you feel detached or estranged from other people?"

Eric didn't answer right away, but not because he was undecided. He thought about the support he'd received from his family, Horatio, and Calleigh since being shot. "No. If anything, I think it's made me appreciate the people in my life more, brought me closer to them."

"Have you noticed a reduced ability to feel emotions?" she asked.

He took a moment to consider it. He'd always had strong emotions - anger, sadness, happiness, love... He thought of the deep sorrow he felt when he realized Marisol was dead, the fear of making a serious mistake at work, the loneliness of going home to an empty apartment every night. But were those emotions weaker than they had been before the trauma? He wasn't sure. Then he thought about happiness. Since he'd come back to work, his happiest moments had been while he was with Calleigh. The deep sense of gratitude he felt toward her was like nothing he could remember feeling before. At least when it came to her, his emotions seemed stronger than they had been before his near-death experience. "No," he answered.

"You took a long time to answer that. Is this something you'd like to discuss?"

"No." A slightly guilty crooked smile brightened his face. "It's just I was thinking of someone."

"The coworker you mentioned in our last session? Calleigh?"

Eric forced down the smile. "What's the next criteria?"

Dr. Nicolosi gave Eric a curious look, but decided to move on. "Do you have a sense of foreshortened future?"

"Well, I guess I've been thinking about...my mortality more than I used to. But I don't feel like I'm going to die soon, if that's what you mean."

She marked the "no" box for C7. "Have your nightmares caused you to experience insomnia?"

He nodded reluctantly. "Yeah. Sometimes."

"Have you been irritable, or experienced angry outbursts?"

"No more than before I was shot," he tried to joke.

"Do you have difficulty concentrating?"

"No. I'm really careful to focus on the work I'm doing and what's going on around me. Especially when I'm in the field."

Dr. Nicolosi looked up at him, and tried to sound like she was following up on his answer instead of asking about hypervigilance. "Would you say you're unusually aware of what's going on around you?"

"Unusually? No. I just try to pay attention." Calleigh entered his thoughts again. Whenever he was around _her _he was always extremely focused. But it didn't interfere with his work.

Criterion D4 got a check under "unsure."

"Do you have a heightened startle response?"

"Not that I've noticed. No."

She marked the box and put down the check list.

"So what's the diagnosis, Doc? Do I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?"

"It's borderline. For now, I want you to just watch the symptoms and let me know if you notice any others, or if they start causing problems."

"I'll do that," Eric said.

When he left the therapists office, Eric wasn't thinking about PTSD. He was thinking about Calleigh. If he hadn't been shot, would he ever have realized how much she meant to him?

Ki no Tsurayuki, _Kokinshu _118:

if the blowing winds  
and effervescent streams were  
gone then I'd never  
see the hidden mountain blooms  
come drifting before my eyes


	43. Phantom

Sources: _Poems Bewitched and Haunted_; Murasaki Shikibu's _The Tale of Genji_, Seidensticker translation.

Chronology: "Bang, Bang, Your Debt."

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, from "The Haunted Chamber":

Each heart has its haunted chamber,  
Where the silent moonlight falls!  
On the floor are mysterious footsteps,  
There are whispers along the walls!

And mine at times is haunted  
By phantoms of the Past,  
As motionless as shadows  
By the silent moonlight cast.

A form sits by the window,  
That is not seen by day,  
For as soon as the dawn approaches  
It vanishes away.

It sits there in the moonlight,  
Itself as pale and still,  
And points with its airy finger  
Across the window-sill.

When Eric first saw Speedle on the beach, he was sure he was seeing things. But then when he saw him up close, actually talked to him, the only two explanations were that he was having hallucinations or that Speedle's death was faked. Perhaps he had to go into witness protection, or maybe some kind of undercover assignment.

Either way, he knew he couldn't tell anyone. He didn't want his coworkers to think he was crazy. And if he wasn't, he didn't want to endanger Speed.

Mononobe Yoshina, Kokinshu 955:

I would start down a mountain path away from the world,  
Did thoughts of one still there not pull me back.

"Hey, you know what?" Calleigh said as she and Jake commented on the expensive appliances and clothing in the victim's residence, "I know this is a complete sidebar, but this is the coffee machine that I want. It makes espressos, macchiatos, cappuccinos, everything."

"When would I ever make a macchiato?"

"Well you would make one every morning," she explained, "after we buy the machine."

She wasn't surprised when Jake didn't comment on her use of the first-person plural. They'd been practically living together for a couple of weeks, and she had the feeling having someone else living in her house was more of an adjustment for her than for Jake. It bothered her a little bit that he'd made himself at home so casually. It was understandable, of course: he'd spent so much time living undercover, moving from one dive apartment to another, sometimes crashing with other bikers in the gang; moving in with a girlfriend was right up his alley.

As far as she could tell, no one at work knew Jake was now living with her. She was a little concerned about how Eric would feel about it. But she shouldn't be, she reminded herself. Eric had apparently gotten over his crush on her, and they were working together just as smoothly as ever.

Or so she thought.

She was waiting for him to run a fingerprint through AFIS when a new lab tech entered with a folder. "CSI Duquesne?" he asked.

"You can call me Calleigh."

"Oh, right. Uh, got it. I have those pictures you asked for."

"Thank you Mike." She took the folder and examined its contents.

"What'd you get?" Eric inquired.

"You," she answered, looking up at him pointedly. "I thought you looked like you saw a ghost out there."

"Don't worry about me," he mumbled.

"You don't have to be embarrassed; the doctor said after your injury that you might be up and down, possibly, for years."

"I guess I'm right on target," he quipped.

"Come on, Eric, it's me. What did you see out there?"

He sighed. For a moment he was on the verge of telling her the truth--after all, it was so hard to deny her anything, especially when she asked like that. But he wasn't sure he could stand it if she pitied him. "I saw evidence of arson."

Calleigh nodded, looking away in disappointment. She'd been concerned by the way he'd acted at the crime scene, but now she was convinced something was wrong, and she was hurt and frustrated that he wouldn't tell her what.

It was later, when she found the credit card in the Hummer, that she began to suspect it had something to do with Speedle.

"I knew it," Eric mumbled to himself.

"What is going on?" she wondered.

He shook his head. "Nothing."

"Look--" just the fact that he'd said that told her he knew more than he wanted to trust her with. "Eric, if we are going to be working together you have to talk to me."

"Look, I said it's nothing," he repeated harshly.

"Does it have something to do with me and Jake? Is there a problem?" Asking that question revealed something Calleigh hadn't even acknowledged herself: that part of her believed Eric still had feelings for her, and that was why he was now shutting her out.

"No Calleigh. Don't be ridiculous."

"Well, you've been acting strange with me all day, so what else am I supposed to think?"

He looked at her, hating that he was upsetting her but still not willing to tell her the truth. "Let's just forget about it," he requested. "May I have Speedle's card please?"

He seemed to forget that Tim had been her friend too. She placed the card in his waiting hand, looking at him reproachfully.

After confronting Dan Cooper and learning the truth, Eric was waiting in the Hummer, staring out the window. He didn't look over when Calleigh climbed in the driver seat. He didn't want her to see the tears in his eyes.

But then he felt her hand cover his gently. He turned to her. Her eyes, wide in the dim light, were full of compassion and sympathy. She had completely forgiven him for not telling her what was wrong. Her heart ached for him.

"I'll be okay," he said, knowing she wanted to ask. "Thanks...for handling that."

She wished she could wipe away the tear streaking his face, but at the moment, with the way she was feeling toward him and how emotionally vulnerable he was, she was afraid of where that could lead. "Eric, I'm so sorry."

He nodded, then turned back to the window.

Murasaki Shikibu:

I see the drake fly, take it up in my hand.  
Ah, here it is, I say--and it is gone.


	44. Insomnia

Sources: _2001 Waka_ website, trans. Thomas McAuley; _Only Companion: Japanese Poems of Love and Longing_, trans. Sam Hamill; _Twenty Love Songs and a Song of Despair _by Pablo Neruda, trans. W.S. Merwin

Chronology: post "Deep Freeze" and "Sunblock."

Sosei, _Kokinshu_ 555:

The autumn wind  
chills my bones  
as cold as  
the woman I hope for  
in the dark, night after night.

Eric glanced at the clock again. It was half past midnight, but he felt like he'd been lying awake for hours.

When he tried to apologize to Jake for accidentally ratting out his relationship with Calleigh, Jake said that if Calleigh wasn't bothered by it then he wasn't bothered by it. But that didn't make sense. Eric couldn't imagine anyone not being devastated by losing Calleigh. If Jake really cared about Calleigh, how could he let IAB break them up? How could Calleigh be so brilliant and yet be so blind about the men she fell for?

Of course Eric couldn't tell Calleigh he thought Jake never deserved her in the first place. What he did tell her was that if he were in Jake's place, he would have switched to the night shift. That was his way of trying to tell her, as directly as he dared, how much he cared for her.

And she'd dismissed it as "sweet."

If he didn't still feel so guilty about indirectly causing their breakup, he could bring himself to be angry at her. Sure, after this he had absolutely no chance with her, and sure she was beautiful and charming and used to men falling all over themselves for her, but how could she just act like it was nothing when he laid his heart bare like that?

He knew he was being petty, and he hated it. And he hated that he couldn't stop being in love with her.

Anonymous, _Kokinshu_ 516:

As night follows night,  
I shift and turn my pillow,  
my eyes open wide.  
Long ago I dreamed of you.  
How was I sleeping that night?

A part of her wanted to believe that Eric had done it on purpose, that he'd let her relationship slip out to Stetler in a deliberate effort to sabotage it or hurt her, because that would mean he was selfish and immature, and she could hold it against him.

But she didn't believe that. She knew Eric better than that.

She looked over at Jake, his sleeping face pale in the dull moonlight that made its way through the window.

Jake had suggested they back off from their relationship. Pursuing it secretly while pretending to break up had been her idea. He'd agreed to it, but still...what he said made it seem like he cared more about his career than her.

That wouldn't bother her--If she were pressed, she would probably choose her career over their relationship, too--but she knew his job wasn't that important to him. He'd liked doing undercover work because of the excitement of it. He liked being a cop because he considered it a cool career to have. But it wasn't a passion, it wasn't a calling for him. Not like it was for her.

And Eric.

She gave up on sleep and gently slid out of bed, going to the window and looking out at the city lights.

She loved Jake. And part of that was precisely because of his cavalier attitude toward his job. She'd seen where an obsession with the work could lead with John. In most ways, Eric was more like Jake than he was like Detective Hagen, but not in that way. Eric was devoted to his work. That's why it had meant so much when he said that he would switched to the night shift for her.

It was that memory, those words, that kept Calleigh awake. Was he telling the truth? If he was, it meant that...Jake, who cared so little about his job, would choose it over her, while Eric, whose job was so important to him, wouldn't. She was haunted, tonight, by the nagging fear that she'd chosen wrong.

"Hey. You coming to bed?" Jake asked tiredly.

Calleigh turned to him, wearing one of her smiles that anyone would mistake for genuine. "In a minute, Hun." She turned back to the window and dropped the smile.

Jake was gorgeous, sexy, exciting. Eric used to remind her of Jake, but he was a little more serious, more reserved, especially after losing his sister and getting shot. Jake could drive her crazy--in good ways and bad--but there was something else with Eric, something less insistent but deeper, a connection she would never have with Jake.

She heard him climb out of bed and tiptoe behind her. He put his arms around her. "Come back to bed," he whispered.

She leaned into his arms, but didn't accept the invitation. Usually his touches left her burning with lust, but this time it was Eric's touch she was imagining. How would it feel to have him hold her like this?

Pablo Neruda:

We have lost even this twilight.  
No one saw us this evening hand in hand  
while the blue night dropped on the world.

I have seen from my window  
the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops.

Sometimes a piece of sun  
burned like a coin between my hands.

I remembered you with my soul clenched  
in that sadness of mine that you know.

Where were you then?  
Who else was there?  
Saying what?  
Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly  
when I am sad and feel you are far away?

The book fell that is always turned to at twilight  
and my cape rolled like a hurt dog at my feet.

Always, always you recede through the evenings  
towards where the twilight goes erasing statues.


	45. Heartless, Part I

Sources: Don M Wolfe's _A Study of Poetry; __ Only Companion: Japanese Poems of Love and Longing_, trans. Sam Hamill; _Great Short Poems_, ed. Paul Negri; Murasaki Shikibu's _The Tale of Genji_.

Chronology: Season 6.

Emily Dickinson:

Not with a club the heart is broken,  
Nor with a stone;  
A whip, so small you could not see it,  
I've known

To lash the magic creature  
Till it fell,  
Yet that whip's name too noble  
Then to tell.

Magnanimous of bird  
By boy descried,  
To sing unto the stone  
Of which it died.

People were capable of getting used to unbelievably horrific things. CSIs were no exception. Any CSI who couldn't find a way to distance themselves from the cruelty and suffering they investigated every day would not be one for long. But every once in a while a case would come along so horrific that it shook even the most jaded investigator.

This was one of those cases.

Eric had to take a moment. It was late enough that he could have clocked out to go and get the drink he could really use right now, but Alexx might find something in autopsy and he and Natalia would have to be ready to chase the lead. He was sitting in the locker room rubbing his eyes and face, trying to get the images in his memory to be less disturbing so he could focus and work.

He didn't hear Calleigh walk in.

"What's wrong?"

He looked up, dropping his hands to his knees. "Nothing," he said, making no effort to sound convincing. "I need to get back to autopsy." He walked out quickly.

Perplexed and concerned, Calleigh started following him down the hall.

"Calleigh, hold on a sec."

She stopped as Natalia caught up with her. Natalia looked exhausted and dismal, and she had grains of sand in her hair.

"What's wrong with Delko?"

"It's the case we caught this morning. A human hand was found on the beach. Actually, a family on vacation from Utah reported it. Their little four-year-old girl dug it up while building a sand castle. Eric processed the little girl's hands. She was so scared that she couldn't stop crying. It really got to him; I think she reminded him of his nieces."

Calleigh nodded. "Did you find anything?"

"Just more body parts. They kept washing up while we were digging, but I don't think we'll ever find all of her. DNA says the victim's a woman. Her prints didn't get a hit in AFIS, so unless someone files a missing persons on her..." she shrugged. "Berkeley turned up some witnesses who saw a truck driving on that beach last night, but no one got a plate, and the tide took care of any tire tracks and shoe impressions. I'm heading down to autopsy now to see if Alexx has anything. Wanna come with?"

Ariwara no Motokata, _Kokinshu_ 474:

Returning again  
and again like endless waves,  
my heart is stolen  
by memories of a stranger  
who carries it away.

Natalia and Calleigh walked into Autopsy, where Alexx and Eric were standing over a table spread with bloody clumps of sand and human body parts.

"One thing I can tell you for sure: whoever did this had no medical training whatsoever. I want to call him a butcher, but that's an insult to butchers," Alexx said. "This guy is a monster."

"Can we tell the cause of death?" Natalia inquired quietly.

"Sharp-force trauma. An ax and some kind of knife, but I've only found the knife marks on her torso, and they're all post-mortem. The ax was the murder weapon, and what he used to chop her up. It's hard to know for sure without more of the body, but it looks like the ax wound in her upper back bled the hardest."

Eric's eyes closed.

"Could I take a look at the blade impressions?" Calleigh requested. This wasn't her case, but if she could help she would--her B&E assault could wait.

"Sure," she said. "Both weapons hit bone, so we have some good impressions. I'll get the casts sent up to you as soon as they're ready."

A. E. Housman:

When I was one-and-twenty  
I heard a wise man say,  
"Give crowns and pounds and guineas  
But not your heart away;  
Give pearls away and rubies  
But keep your fancy free."  
But I was one-and-twenty,  
No use to talk to me.

When I was one-and-twenty  
I heard him say again,  
"The heart out of the bosom  
Was never given in vain;  
'Tis paid with sighs a plenty  
And sold for endless rue."  
And I am two-and-twenty,  
And oh, 'tis true, 'tis true.

When Calleigh left that evening, she found Eric standing outside the doors, staring into the windswept blue-gray sky.

"You okay?" she asked him.

"Yeah. It's just...I can't stop picturing the little girl who found the hand. You know, what she found in the sand...she's never gonna be able to forget it. Think the killer even thought about that when he dumped the body? About who would find it like that, and what it would do to them?"

"I don't know," she said softly, wishing she could do or say something to make it easier. "We'll find him."

He turned to her. "Thanks, Cal. I know this isn't your case, and I appreciate your help."

"I saw that body. Anyone who's capable of that...we need to get him behind bars as quick as possible."

A brief flicker of smile appeared at the corner of Eric's lips. That was true, but he knew the real reason she was helping with the case was because she knew how much it was upsetting him.

"I determined the knife was a carving knife, the kind a carpenter might use. I know it's not much."

"But it's something. Her DNA didn't get a hit, but decomp says she died yesterday morning. Alexx thinks she was in her mid-twenties, white, about five-foot-seven, average build. We haven't been able to find her face..."

"Something might turn up tomorrow."

Eric nodded. He knew she was making an effort to be optimistic, but still felt comforted by her words. "Thanks. You wanna..." he hesitated for a long moment. "You wanna grab a drink?"

Calleigh's eyes searched his face in the dim light. "That wouldn't be a good idea." She couldn't say she had plans with Jake, because Eric didn't know she was still seeing Jake. Of course, her dinner with Jake wasn't until later, but still... They could say they were just two colleagues grabbing a drink, but it wouldn't be that simple with them. "I'll see you tomorrow," she said, and walked away.

Eric watched her for a moment, then his eyes dropped to the pavement that matched the sky.

Murasaki Shikibu:

My heart is there in the sleeve of an unkind lady,  
Quite without my guidance. I am helpless.

No missing person report matching the victim was filed, and no trace of the killer emerged from the evidence gathered. Eric and Natalia moved on to other cases, but reviewed the evidence for the dismembered body on the beach every day, hoping for a break.

Over a week later, Horatio called them both to his office. "There may be a development for your Jane Doe from the beach."

"What?" Natalia asked eagerly.

"The young lady's heart was never recovered."

Eric shook his head. "No. Alexx said it looked like it had been cut out with the carving knife."

"Yesterday a heart was found in a box packed with ice. The trace chemicals in the ice indicate it originated here, in Florida. We're still waiting for a DNA match, but the estimated time of death is consistent with our Jane Doe."

"Where was it found?" Eric asked.

"The box was left at a technology showcase. In San Francisco."

Natalia's eyebrows shot up. "You're kidding. Someone _literally_ left her heart in San Francisco?"

Sosei, _Kokinshu_ 802:

Where is the dark seed that grows the forget-you plant?  
Searching, now I see  
it grows in the frozen heart  
of one who has murdered love.


	46. Heartless, Part II

Sources:_ Only Companion: Japanese Poems of Love and Longing_, trans. Sam Hamill; _A Book of American Humorous Verse_; the _Kokinshu; _Murasaki Shikibu's _The Tale of Genji_; 2001 Waka website, trans. Thomas McAuley.

Anonymous, _Manyoshu_ 2917:

Under the sky's broad reaches, like ice  
imperceptibly melting,  
may your cold heart  
melt for me.

It began as little more than an impression that something was off, that something was missing. It was well into the afternoon, as Calleigh walked by Fingerprinting with a file for Horatio, that she realized what it was: she hadn't seen Eric for two days. Granted she'd been very busy working on a car theft case with Jake and Ryan, and she knew Eric had been avoiding her all week, ever since she declined to have a drink with him after work, but it bothered her that it had taken this long to notice he was gone.

She spotted Horatio. "Hey. I finished analyzing the serial numbers from the chop shop." She presented the manila folder to him. "Definitely the same cars."

"Thank you. We should be able to use this to force the owner to give up his accomplices."

"Let's hope so," she said. "Hey, where is Delko today?"

"He and Miss Boa Vista," Horatio replied, "are in California following a lead on one of their cases."

She blinked in surprise. "Really?"

He nodded. "A body part from their Jane Doe on the beach showed up in San Francisco. They're aiding the SFPD with the investigation."

"They didn't mention it to me. What body part?"

Horatio hoped she wouldn't make the same joke as everyone else who'd heard about it, including the San Francisco swing shift supervisor when she called to confirm the DNA match. "The heart."

It took a moment for Calleigh to respond. "That's quite a lead."

When she left that evening, she tried to give Eric a call, but only got his voice mail. "Hey, it's me," she said after the beep. "Heard you were in San Francisco. How's the case going? Give me a call."

John Boyle O'Reilly, "Constancy":

"You gave me the key of your heart, my love;  
Then why do you make me knock?"  
"Oh, that was yesterday, Saints above!  
And last night--I changed the lock!"

It was after eleven that night when Calleigh's cell phone buzzed. She reached for it.

"Just let it ring," Jake requested, snaking his arm around her waist. "Who'd call you this time of night?"

"It's Eric," she replied, sliding out of bed and grabbing her robe as she flipped the phone open. "Hey."

Oshikochi no Mitsune, _Kokinshu_ 611:

my heart knows not its  
destination it has no  
other goal than a  
brief encounter a single  
moment alone with my love

"Hey_,_" Eric answered. "Sorry to call you this late. I would've called back earlier, but I was working on the investigation." He had been thinking seriously about not returning her call at all. He'd been hoping that the trip to the other side of the country might help him clear her out of his head, that a vacation from her could help him get over her. But it wasn't working; being so far away just made it hurt more.

Anonymous, _Kokinshu _540:

if only there were  
a way that we might exchange  
hearts then I could make  
you realize how painful  
a one-sided love can be

"That's fine," she assured him, turning away from Jake (she didn't feel guilty, but for some reason she was a bit embarrassed). "I was still up. What's San Francisco like?"

"_It's colder than I expected_," he answered. "_And it's a little challenging, working with the San Francisco CSIs_."

"They territorial about the case?"

"_No, not really. It's more just...getting used to the different team dynamics. There's one in particular who's...pushy_."

"I'm sorry," she commiserated. "But in general are you getting along with them all right?"

Murasaki Shikibu:

No Shallow Spring, this heart of mine, believe me.  
And why must the mountain spring then seem so distant?

Eric smiled. He leaned against the counter in the otherwise-empty break room of the San Francisco Crime Lab and looked out the window at the view of the city's lights. "Yeah. Don't worry, I'm playing nice."

Calleigh laughed. Eric closed his eyes as if to block out the painfully beautiful sound.

Akazome Emon, _Shinkokinshu _113:

In the Autumn fields,  
When I see the flowers,  
My heart:  
What should I say: that it's content,  
Or that they draw it from me?

"So how's the investigation going?" Calleigh asked after the brief lag.

"_It's...slow. We spent all day looking over missing person reports from California, in case Jane Doe was from here_."

"Which would explain why no one filed a report on her in Florida. Any luck?"

"_No. We also haven't been able to get any usable prints or DNA off the box the heart was left in. There were hundreds of prints from the scene that we'll probably never be able to sort through. And as busy as the place was, no one remembers anyone bringing the box in. Natalia and a couple of the CSIs here are going over security footage from an ATM and a jewelry store across the street. They might find something._"

"It's a tough case. Someone took the time to cut her heart out of her chest and transport it across the country. I'm hoping this isn't a serial killer."

"_No kidding. Glory--the pushy one--has been looking for similar cases, both nationally and internationally, and didn't find anything. She's pretty sure it's not the work of a serial killer. She thinks it's personal._"

"Cutting out someone's heart: that's about as personal as you can get. Could be a jilted lover."

"_Natalia suggested domestic abuse. That could be why no one reported her missing_."

"I'll look over local domestic abuse reports tomorrow, see if anything pops."

"_Thanks_."

"So you planning on doing any sightseeing?"

"_Yeah, I'd like to. After we close the case_."

"You'll have to tell me all about it when you get back."

"_I will._" After a moment, he added softly, "_I miss you_."

Though she wasn't surprised to hear him say that, she didn't know how to react. She missed him too. That's why she'd called in the first place. But would it be dangerous to tell him that? "Take care of yourself. I'll talk to you later."

Murasaki Shikibu:

Through the waving, dancing sleeves could you see a heart  
So stormy that it wished but to be still?

Eric sat down, dropped his phone on the table, and buried his face in his hands. He shouldn't have said that. He hadn't meant to say that. Why did he tell her he missed her? Especially after she turned him down for drinks just last week? He was trying to accept that she would never feel for him the way he felt for her. Why wouldn't the hope just die? Why couldn't he stop thinking about her?

He would replay their conversation in his mind later that night, and he would dismiss as his own jealous imagination the impression that there had been someone else in the room with her.

Anonymous, Kokinshu 619:

destined to remain  
so far apart never to  
be able to hold  
my love my heart has become  
a shadow clinging to her

"Was that about the chopped-up-corpse-on-the-beach case?" Jake inquired when Calleigh returned to bed.

"Yeah."

He propped himself up on his elbow. "Is everything okay?"

She smiled for a second, then let it fall. "There's still not much to go on. He's frustrated."

"And he called you in the middle of the night to talk about it? Should I be jealous?" He was obviously joking. Jake wasn't the jealous type; that was one of the things Calleigh loved best about him.

"Of course not: jealousy causes stress, and stress is bad for your health," she said, smiling. "Besides, it's not the middle of the night there. It's not even nine."

"Still..."

She looked up at the ceiling. "The thing is...we have to find this one. He's good, and he's brutal. If this is his first murder, it might not be his last."

"You can worry about it tomorrow. Leave work at the office. It's the only way to sleep at night."

"You're right." She reached up and turned off the lamp.

But it was still a while before sleep would come.

Oshikochi no Mitsune, Kokinshu 104:

seeing the flowers  
wither and fall my heart too  
changes its colors  
but I shall not display them--  
others shall not know my weakness


	47. Heartless, Part III

Sources: _One Hundred Poems from the Japanese, _trans. Kenneth Rexroth; _The Kokinshu_.

Author's note: Thinking about it, I probably should have saved this story--with the disembodied heart and poems personifying hearts--for Valentine's Day. Oh well.

Otomo no Yakamochi, _Manyoshu_ 4290:

Mist floats on the Spring meadow.  
My heart is lonely.  
A nightingale sings in the dusk.

Eric woke up early after a fitful night of dissatisfying sleep, and decided he would go to the Golden Gate Bridge before work. Who knew, after all, if he'd have any time to go sightseeing once the case was over? And he didn't want to spend time in San Francisco without at least seeing its most famous landmark.

When he got there, he was disappointed to find most of the bridge was hidden behind murky blue morning fog.

It didn't seem fair that he could be so close to something and not be able to see it. It didn't seem fair at all.

He glanced at his watch, then left. He returned a few minutes later with a cup of coffee, hoping the fog would clear. While the fog had grown lighter, he could still only see about half the bridge, and that much was hazy and indistinct. He sipped the hot coffee and kept looking. The orange hue of the bridge stood out from the gray and blue and white of the mists. After a few minutes, he realized the fog itself was startlingly beautiful, and he didn't regret coming out so early. He wished he could share the view with someone.

Ki no Tsurayuki, Kokinshu 479:

a fleeting glimpse  
as of mountain cherries seen  
through the thick veil of  
spring mists I scarcely saw  
the one who captured my heart

Calleigh had arrived to work early to look up domestic abuse charges and complaints with victims matching the general description of Jane Doe. She dismissed any where the abuser was in jail during the time of the killing, then she began sorting them by the seriousness of injuries. By her lunch break, she had narrowed down the list to about a hundred cases. She picked up her phone, hesitated for a moment, then dialed Natalia.

"_Boa Vista_," she answered.

"Hey, it's Calleigh."

"_Hi. What's up?_"

"I've been looking through domestic abuse charges in Miami to see if I could find your Jane Doe or her killer."

"_That's a good idea. Does anyone stand out?_"

"Not really," Calleigh admitted, "but I've found some names of possibles that you might want to check against anyone who shows up on your end of the investigation."

"_So far, that's a short list,_" Natalia said. "_We've been looking at this guy Terrence White, head of Key Z Technology, the company that sponsored the tech show where the heart was left. He kept going on about how the bad publicity could ruin his business, but it turns out Key Z was already in trouble financially and the insurance payout he's trying to get from this could be enough to pull it back from the brink._"

"Interesting. So he had a financial motive to sabotage his own event?"

"_Looks like it. One of the CSIs here is a forensic accounting expert. Dashiell Smith. He's really good at it, too_."

"Does the suspect have any ties to Miami?"

"_No, but like one of the other CSIs pointed out, the person who left the heart might not be the same person who killed her. He could've bought it on ebay._"

"I guess that's true, but it sounds unlikely," Calleigh smiled. "Eric tells me some of the CSIs over there aren't easy to get along with."

_"He probably meant Glory. She and Eric had a little debate. Voices were raised_." She sounded amused.

"What happened?"

"_Glory thought we should take more DNA samples from the box the heart was in. She said that if the killer so much as breathed on it his DNA would be there, Eric said finding it would still be a long-shot, and then Glory said that if you take enough long shots you're statistically likely to hit the target eventually_."

"They both had good points."

"_Yeah. Hotaru Aizawa--the supervisor--said that we'd save our long shots until we were out of better options and sent Glory to help Dashiell with the surveillance footage while Eric and Li went back to the sorting out the fingerprints from the table where the heart was left_. _Glory's very outspoken, but I like her. She's a little cynical, though. When we were talking about the possibility that the killer and victim were from here and vacationing in Miami, she said we should start putting 'I left my body in Miami' on our souvenirs_."

"That's not very nice."

"_No. It was a little funny, though. I guess you had to be there._"

"This is a weird case," Calleigh said when a moment passed in silence.

"_Your telling me. Yesterday I...I actually saw the heart. I guess it's one thing to see the body parts spread out of the exam table, but, Calleigh, someone had to cut open her chest, cut through bone and muscle and veins and arteries to get that out." _Her voice quivered almost imperceptibly. _"And he didn't do a clean job of it, either. I almost threw up. Who was she? And how could someone hate her enough to do that to her?_"

"We're going to find out, Natalia. Whoever she was, we're going to make sure she gets justice."

Fujiwara no Okikaze, _Kokinshu_ 1064:

I'll abandon my  
body but I'll not discard  
this watchful heart  
for in the end I must know  
just what will become of me

Eric and Hotaru were in the AV room, comparing mug shots of AFIS hits from the showcase, as well as local domestic abuse charges, with images Dashiell and Glory had isolated from the two security cameras with a view of the street in front of the heart's dump site.

Natalia knocked at the open door. "Hey," she said when they looked up, "I'd hate to add to your work load, but Calleigh just sent some mug shots of domestic abuse suspects from Miami that you might want to add to the pile."

"You talked to her?" Eric asked, wondering why Calleigh hadn't called him.

"Yeah. She called to let me know she was sending them."

"What did she say?"

"She didn't find anything that made anyone stand out, but she'll keep looking. Want some help with this?"

"I think we've got it," Hotaru said. "If you don't mind, I'd like you and Li to go with Detective McCaig as soon as he arrives with the warrant to search Terrence White's house."

Natalia nodded and left. Hotaru went to a computer to pull up the files from Miami. "So," she said, "is Calleigh the reason you're already homesick?"

"What makes you think I'm homesick?" Eric asked.

Hotaru half-smiled. The tall Japanese woman reminded him of Calleigh a little, in the shape of her features, her expressions, and her skill at concealing her real thoughts and feelings. "My nickname, back when I worked Homicide, was 'Detective Polygraph'. I'm really good at picking up on things like that."

"Really?" He sounded almost challenging.

"You sat up straighter when Boa Vista said her name. You looked eager when you asked what Calleigh said, and miserable when Boa Vista didn't go into detail. She didn't pick up on it; she doesn't know how you feel about your colleague."

Eric cleared his throat, and continued working on comparing mug shots to grainy photographs. The footage wouldn't be good enough to make a positive ID, but finding possible matches would at least help them narrow down suspects.

Hotaru turned back to the computer screen, and for a moment he thought she would drop it. Then she said, "It's not fatal, you know."

"What?"

"Unrequited love. It's not even terminal. After my divorce, I didn't know how I would ever move on. It took a couple of years, but I really did get over it."

"Well what about you and Dashiell?"

Hotaru glanced at him sharply, and Eric almost laughed to have caught her with an astute observation of his own.

"I've seen the way you look at him," he explained. "It takes one to know one."

She went back to typing. "I'll get over that, too."

"Does he know you like him?"

"Yes. Well, I haven't exactly spelled it out for him, but...he knows."

Eric nodded, and sighed. "Does anything help? Does anything make it better?"

"Time," Hotaru answered, looking at him sympathetically. "And...poetry."

He raised his eyebrows. "Poetry?"

"It's like putting your emotions in a cage of words, so they don't have to be inside you anymore. And to see that there have been other people throughout history who went through what you're going through...it makes it easier."

"I dunno," he muttered.

She shrugged. "Just a suggestion."

Ki no Tomonori, _Kokinshu_ 562:

when evening draws near  
the fireflies glow brightly my  
heart burns more fiercely  
yet to my heartless love this  
flame must be invisible


	48. Heartless, Part IV

Sources: wikisource; _The Kokinshu; _Everyman's Library Pocket Poets' _Love Poems_ ed. Peter Washington; _ Great Short Poems_, ed. Paul Negri; _The Oxford Book of English Verse, 1250-1918, _ed. Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch.

Robert Herrick, "The Frozen Heart":

I freeze, I freeze, and nothing dwels  
In me but Snow, and ysicles.  
For pitties sake give your advice,  
To melt this snow, and thaw this ice;  
I'le drink down Flames, but if so be  
Nothing but love can supple me;  
I'le rather keepe this frost, and snow,  
Then to be thaw'd, or heated so.

Calleigh entered the grim, crowded bar. Jake was a step behind her. She glance at the mugshot in her hand, then looked back at the room. "That's him." She nodded toward a large, brown-haired man sitting alone. Police had been called out to his house a few times when the neighbors complained about hearing him fight with his live-in girlfriend, but charges were never filed for those. He was in the system for a drunk driving arrest and drug possession. He was an unemployed shop teacher, which could mean he was familiar with the kinds of tools used on the victim.

Jake made his way to a chair close to the suspect, but far enough away not to draw his attention. Calleigh waited a couple of minutes, then went up to the man. "This seat taken?" she asked sweetly.

He drunkenly looked her over. "Does't look taken?"

She smiled uncertainly. "It's just, you seem all lonesome over here. Want to talk about it?"

He scoffed and held his drink up to his mouth. "Nothin' to talk about. Bitches're all the same."

"You look like you could break the heart of a girl or two, yourself."

His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist in a clumsy but crushing grip. "Just leave me alone."

"Hey!" Jake stood up. "That looks like assault on a police officer to me. I could arrest you for that."

The suspect turned to him. "Like to see you try." He tried to stand up, but Calleigh already had handcuffs out, and slapped them on him before he had a chance to go after Jake.

"George Fisk, you have the right to remain silent," Calleigh began as the two of them maneuvered him out of the bar.

After securing their suspect in the back of the police car, Jake reached for Calleigh, brushing a clump of hair out of her face. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Fine," she said. "Thanks."

"So we don't have enough to arrest this guy for murder?"

"Well, until today he hasn't used his credit card since the day the body was found, so he was probably smart enough to pay cash while he was traveling. Everything else we have so far is just about as circumstantial."

"What makes Natalia and Delko so sure this is our guy?"

"They think the heart belongs to his girlfriend, Nadya Polzin. Of course, even if the victim is his girlfriend, it doesn't prove he killed her."

"So, basically, we need a whole lot more evidence or a confession, or this guy walks?"

Shifting her eyes from him back to the suspect, Calleigh nodded. "Yeah. That's basically it."

Ki no Tomonori, _Kokinshu _667:

how painful is love  
imprisoned in the heart do  
not censure me if  
my tears of anguish scatter  
like jewels when the thread snaps

"I can't wait to close this case," Natalia said.

Eric was looking out the window of the airplane as they descended over Miami. "Yeah."

"I'm kind of gonna miss San Francisco, though."

"Me too," Eric said, realizing with surprise that he meant it. He had enjoyed the break in his routine, and meeting new people. "I won't miss the cold, though."

"Yeah, no."

Horatio met them outside the airport.

"Have we found George Fisk yet?" Natalia asked.

"Calleigh and Jake tracked his credit card to a bar. He's in custody now."

"We had enough evidence to arrest him?"

"Not for the murder," Horatio said as they all climbed into his Hummer. "They arrested him for assaulting a police officer. Apparently it didn't take much provocation."

"Is she alright?" Eric asked.

"They're both fine. Unfortunately, we haven't been able to get a warrant for George Fisk's house."

Natalia and Eric exchanged worried glances. "There's still no physical evidence linking George Fisk to the murder. What are we going to do?"

"You," Horatio answered her, "are going to convince Fisk...that there is."

John Suckling:

I prithee send me back my heart,  
Since I cannot have thine;  
For if from yours you will not part,  
Why then shouldst thou have mine?

Yet now I think on't, let it lie,  
To find it were in vain;  
For th'hast a thief in either eye  
Would steal it back again.

Why should two hearts in one breast lie,  
And yet not lodge together?  
O love, where is thy sympathy,  
If thus our breasts thou sever?

But love is such a mystery,  
I cannot find it out;  
For when I think I'm best resolv'd,  
I then am most in doubt.

Then farewell care, and farewell woe,  
I will no longer pine;  
For I'll believe I have her heart  
As much as she hath mine.

Calleigh spotted Natalia in the hall. "You're back!"

"Yeah. I hear we have you and Jake to thank for finding the suspect," Natalia said, smiling brightly in greeting.

"Well...he wasn't that hard to find. Where's Eric?"

"He's getting ready for the interrogation."

They started walking in the same direction. "So how did you figure out who the heart belonged to?"

"Well, we were looking at Terrence White, the tech guru. We got a warrant to search his computer files for any evidence that he was involved in the heart showing up at his show. Anyway, the password for his computer was capital H, small a, capital A, small e, asterisk, capital A, small a. The second Eric read it, he realized it represented letters in the Cyrillic alphabet. He ran to the interrogation room and asked Terrence who 'Nadezhda' was. He said it was a woman he used to work with on a hardware development team in college. Eric asked if her last name was Polzin, and Terrence got really nervous and said it was. Eric remembered that the name of the girlfriend in one of the domestic abuse files you sent us was Nadya Polzin. Nadya is a nickname for Nadezhda in Russian."

"I see."

"When Terrence realized the heart might have been Nadezhda's, he broke down crying. He hadn't seen her in years, but apparently he was still in love with her. Hotaru made a couple of phone calls and found out Nadya Polzin hasn't been seen in weeks, and that she bought a one-way ticket to San Francisco, but never made the flight."

"If Fisk found out she was planning on leaving him..."

"That's the most dangerous time for a battered woman," Natalia confirmed. "She's most likely to be murdered when she tries to escape. Terrence said that the last time he saw Nadezhda, he told her to come to him if she ever needed anything. We think maybe she was running to him."

Calleigh blinked away. "It's sad. If her abusive boyfriend knew who she was leaving him for, killed her, and left her heart where he would find it...he was trying to hurt them both."

"Almost poetic, in a sick and twisted kind of way."

"Let's just hope we can use that to get a confession."

Anna Akhmatova, trans. Judith Hemschemeyer, "He Whispers":

He whispers: 'I'm not sorry  
For loving you this way--  
Either be mine alone  
Or I will kill you.'  
It buzzes around me like a gadfly,  
Incessantly, day after day,  
This same boring argument,  
Your black jealousy.  
Grief smothers - but not fatally,  
The wide wind dries my tears  
And cheerfulness begins to soothe,  
To smooth out this troubled heart.

Eric and Natalia entered the interrogation room and came face to face with the man they were almost sure had committed the gruesome murder. George Fisk seemed ordinary--like so many murderers. His light brown hair was swept back, his hazel eyes stared from a pale, bony face. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and looked like he'd been athletic ten or so years ago. He'd had time to sober up, but still looked like he hadn't slept in days.

"Heard you don't want a lawyer," Eric commented, slowly taking a seat.

"Don't need one. I didn't do anything wrong."

"You know," Natalia said, "you really should get a lawyer. If you're lucky, you might be able to plead insanity."

"Just because I'm in these cuffs doesn't mean I'm crazy. I din't even touch that blond chick. Why am I even in here?"

Eric's jaw clenched. "Being in those cuffs isn't why we think you're crazy. Chopping up your girlfriend was enough to convince us of that."

"What are you talking about?"

"Nadya Polzin," Natalia said. "The way you killed her...I gotta say, I don't think I've ever seen anything like it. What did she do to get you that angry?"

George's eyes narrowed. "I didn't kill her."

"Your neighbors heard you arguing a couple of days before we found her body," Eric lied.

"How did you know it was her body? Are you telling me Nadya's _dead?_ I thought she left me."

"Yeah, she's dead," said Natalia. "And we have evidence placing you at the scene. You left your DNA all over her body." She was baiting him: if he said anything to indicate he knew the body parts had been dumped in the ocean, they would catch him admitting to knowledge he wouldn't have if he didn't kill her.

But he didn't take the bait. "You're lying. Or maybe my DNA was on her because she was my _girlfriend._ We had a good relationship."

"Really? Because that's not what all of the cops that went to your house for domestic disturbances thought," Eric countered.

"Sometimes we got rough. Don't you?" George retorted.

"So, wait," Natalia said, "if you had such a great thing going, why did you think she left you?"

It took a long moment for him to come up with an answer for that. "Well, what else was I supposed to think? One day I got home and she was gone. I lost my job a few months ago, and I just thought maybe she was tired of being broke."

"You found the plane ticket, didn't you?" Eric asked in a threatening growl. "You knew she was leaving you for another man, someone she knew a long time before she met you, someone she had a history with. You couldn't stand it. You couldn't stand that you just weren't good enough for her."

They heard George's anger in a sharp intake of breath, but their suspect didn't say anything.

Eric stood and moved to his side of the table, towering over him. "Terrence White. That's his name. But you knew that. You knew she was planning on finding him in San Francisco. Did she write down the address? Is that how you knew where to leave it?"

"It was a nice touch," said Natalia, barely managing to conceal her disgust. "Leaving it where he would find it. Really creative. How did you think of it?"

George took a deep breath, keeping his eyes on Natalia.

The good cop/bad cop dichotomy works because some criminals are prone to confide in someone they think is sympathetic, while others are more likely to crack and confess when intimidated. It was becoming increasingly clear that Natalia's vague hints of sympathy only strengthened Fisk's resolve to deny the charges.

"Don't look at her!" Eric kicked the suspect's chair, forcing George's focus back to him. "You deserve to rot in hell for what you did...for what you did to Nadya. How sick do you have to be to do something like that to another human being?"

"Not saying I killed her, but some people deserve it," he replied.

"Because she left you? She left you for another man, and you couldn't just let her go, accept her choice and move on with your life? It's really not that hard to do. If you really loved her, you would've wanted her to be happy no matter how miserable she made you."

"It wasn't about that!" George sneered angrily. "I'm not one of those pathetic, whipped guys who thinks he can't live without some chick."

"What was it then?" Eric yelled, mirroring his anger.

"She was leaving me for some scrawny computer geek! She thought I couldn't support her! I'll be damned if I let that little bitch question my manhood!"

"Yeah right!" Eric shouted in his face. "You're too emotionally stunted to deal without her, and you're too much of a coward to admit it. She meant nothing to you? Then why did you take the time to cut 'er up like that? Huh? Why did you drive across the country to get to the man she was leaving you for?"

"She told me that's where her heart wanted to be. I was just giving her what she wanted!"

Eric backed away, glaring at him.

"Well, Mr. Fisk," Natalia said, "you are now very definitely under arrest for the murder of Nadezhda Polzin."

Sara Teasdale, "I Shall Not Care":

When I am dead and over me bright April  
Shakes out her rain-drenched hair,  
Though you should lean above me broken-hearted,  
I shall not care.

I shall have peace as leafy trees are peaceful,  
When rain bends down the bough,  
And I shall be more silent and cold-hearted  
Than you are now.

After the killer was booked, Horatio met up with Natalia and Eric. "Good work on the confession. Ryan and Calleigh are processing Mr. Fisk's house now. It seems that there is a considerable amount of blood in his garage. It looks like he left for San Francisco right after killing her, didn't get back until today, and hasn't taken the time to clean up yet."

"That will make for an easy conviction, if he doesn't plead guilty," Natalia said.

"You know," Eric remarked, "I'm kind of hoping this goes to trial, because I want George Fisk to get the needle. Does that make me a bad person?"

Horatio scoffed.

"No," Natalia assured him. "Not this time. Not with this one."

"The important thing is that a killer is off the streets, Nadezhda gets justice, and her family knows what happened to her. This was a difficult case, and you both did excellent work. If you would like to take a couple of days' leave, they're yours."

"I might just take you up on that."

Eric nodded, even though he had no intention of taking a day off.

He thought about the things he'd said to the suspect, and the things Hotaru had said to him. They were true. Maybe he would never stop being in love with Calleigh, but he could live without her, and he could move on.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson, from "Maud":

She is coming, my own, my sweet,  
Were it ever so airy a tread,  
My heart would hear her and beat,  
Were it earth in an earthy bed;  
My dust would hear her and beat,  
Had I lain for a century dead;  
Would start and tremble under her feet,  
And blossom in purple and red.

The next morning, Eric was doing a follow-up report on the Polzin case when he heard a familiar rhythm of high heels clacking against the floor. He looked up, marveling again at how beautiful Calleigh was, and smiled. "Good morning."

"Same to you," she said. "I heard how you broke the case of the lost heart. Pretty impressive."

"It was sheer luck. If Terrence White hadn't used his ex-girlfriend's name as his password, I don't think we ever would have made the connection."

"That wasn't just luck; that was you being brilliant enough to know Russian and remember one name from hundreds of files."

He lowered his face, unable to stop smiling from her praise.

"I know this was a tough case for you."

"Yeah." He looked back up, smile gone. "I'm glad it's over."

"Did you find time to do any sightseeing in California?"

"A little. I saw the Golden Gate Bridge"

"How was it?"

"About what you'd expect, I guess."

"Still, you promised to tell me about it. How about after work today, over drinks?" She regretted turning him down before, without even explaining why, and she was still wondering if she'd hurt him during their phone call. As much as she didn't want to lead him on, she would hate to let their friendship slip away.

He looked at her thoughtfully, frowning. She meant just as colleagues, of course. They used to spend time after work together without any problem. And if he was really going to learn to just deal with his feelings for her, he had to be able to spend time with her without getting his hopes up. "Yeah. That would be fine."

She'd been watching him intently. Now her lips sputtered into an uncertain smile. "Okay. I'll see you then."

Ariwara no Motokata, _Kokinshu _480:

longing is not a  
messenger and yet how strange  
it is that my love  
has carried my heart away  
and delivered it to her


	49. The Surprise

Sources: Rumi's _Birdsong, _trans. Colman Barks;wikisource.

Rumi, trans. Coleman Barks:

You thought union was a way  
you could decide to go.

But the world of the soul follows  
things rejected and almost forgotten.

Your true guide drinks  
from an undammed stream.

The exclusive Italian restaurant was rather crowded at this time of night. Calleigh fit right in. Her golden hair was pinned up in a flourishing twist, her bright blue evening gown and flawless make-up drew plenty of second glances from the restaurant's other patrons.

She gazed at her dinner companion as she finished her last few bites of pasta. Perhaps it was the soft light from the candles on the table, or perhaps it was the atmosphere of the place, or the glass of chardonnay she'd imbibed, or because it was true, but she thought at the moment that he was the most gorgeous man she'd ever rested her eyes on.

He smiled at her, that smile that always made her melt, but it looked a little nervous. He'd been unusually quiet tonight. "Ready for dessert?"

"If I eat another bite, I'm not going to be able to fit in this dress. Though I'm sure you wouldn't mind."

He laughed, but didn't say anything.

"I keep thinking, this place, the flowers...what's the occasion? Did I forget an anniversary or something?" she joked.

"Of course not. You just deserve it."

She looked down, smiling. "I feel like the luckiest girl in the world when I'm with you."

"Yeah, well...I hope I can always make you feel like that." He glanced away quickly. "Oh, look: dessert."

A waitress arrived at the table, bearing a covered silver tray. She put it in front of Calleigh and removed the lid.

Calleigh's eyes widened. In the center of the tray was a small silver dish of chocolate gelato garnished with whipped cream, sliced strawberries, and chocolate sauce, and sticking out of it was a gold ring, its three diamonds coruscating in the candlelight. Her breath caught, and she felt like every eye in the room was on her.

"Calleigh Duquesne, will you make me the luckiest man in the world? Will you marry me?"

It took her a few seconds to remember how to breathe. She was so shocked, and so thrilled. A thousand thoughts raced through her head, and she barely heard any of them. "Yes," she gasped. She put on the ring, which was cold but fit perfectly. People at nearby tables burst out cheering.

It was perfect. So perfect. She chased away the nagging doubts at the back of her mind and threw her arms around her new fiance. "Of course...Oh, Jake, of course I'll marry you!"

Edgar Allen Poe, from "Bridal Ballad":

And thus the words were spoken,  
And this the plighted vow,  
And, though my faith be broken,  
And, though my heart be broken,  
Here is a ring, as token  
That I am happy now!


	50. Wilting

Sources: Rumi, _Birdsong__; __Great Short Poems_, ed. Paul Negri_; A Study of Poetry, _Don M. Wolfe; _The Languages of the World, _Kenneth Katzner.

Chronology: "Stand Your Ground"

Rumi:

The rose takes from another presence  
its crimson grace, as a thief  
on the gallows takes the breeze.

So the nightingale begs all night,  
to no avail, the morning air,  
"Warn of what you bring!"

"Thanks. Have a good one!" Calleigh called to the bartender as she left.

Being with Jake always made her feel vivacious, beautiful, and fascinating. She walked down the street with a smile and an extra swing in her step. She admired her reflection in the window of a store she passed.

She couldn't imagine anything could ruin her good mood this morning.

She got into her car, rolled down the window to let the breeze clear out the heat, and checked her mirror. A large black car was driving up. She waited for it to pass.

But it didn't pass. It slowed to a stop beside her car. She glanced over to see what the problem was.

And came face to face with the barrel of a gun.

"Kill the engine, lady! Now!"

She looked forward calmly, and reached to her keys. Then her hand smoothly glided to her open purse.

"I'm not going to ask you again. Turn it off!"

Gun in hand, Calleigh spun back toward the window. "Police officer! Put the gun down, now!"

The black car's wheels screeched into motion. The man's gun hit her hand, knocking hers away.

Calleigh got out of her car as they sped off. She walked to where her gun had come to a rest, several meters in front of her car. As she walked back, she heard the squealing of tires against pavement. She turned to see the black car accelerating toward her.

Instead of running, she faced them squarely, aimed her gun, and fired at the driver. She rolled out of the way a second before the car drove over where she had been standing. It swerved out of the road and crashed through the window of a nearby store.

Calleigh immediately rose to her feat and approached the crashed car, her gun at the ready. She shouted to be heard over the blaring of the horn. "Get out of the car!" Ignoring the flames and sparks that sputtered around her, she opened the car door, finding the driver either dead or unconscious, blood dripping down his face. She pulled him off the horn, then looked around for the passenger.

That's when she spotted a hand protruding from beneath the car. Calleigh ran to the woman, pulled her away from the vehicle, and checked for a pulse.

The woman was dead. That realization struck Calleigh with a horror that not even the gun and the car driving straight for her had inspired. She pulled out her cell phone, dialed, spoke in a strained voice. "This is, uh, Duquesne. I've got an off-duty...shooting I need to report. Beachside and Eleventh. Requesting immediate assistance. There are two fatalities at the scene, and, uh, one suspect is outstanding on foot."

William Blake, "The Sick Rose":

O Rose, thou art sick!  
The invisible worm  
That flies in the night,  
In the howling storm,  
Has found out thy bed  
Of crimson joy:  
And his dark secret love  
Does thy life destroy.

When Eric heard that Calleigh had been involved in an off-duty shooting, he felt like someone had put an iron band around his chest. Despite Horatio's assurance that Calleigh was unharmed, he couldn't breathe easily again until he arrived at the crime scene and saw her with his own eyes.

He went straight to her, sat beside her, and tried to think of the best way to ask if she was okay.

"I don't know what happened," she said before he had a chance to speak. "I was just at a brunch, down the street." She was trying to sound upbeat, but Eric knew it was an act: Calleigh was the bravest person he knew, but no one could go through something like this without being a little bit devastated. He could see how flushed her face was, the distant look in her shadowed eyes.

"You gonna be okay?" he asked quietly.

After a long moment, she nodded, still not looking at him. "There was a woman in that building." She bit her lip and shrugged. "An innocent woman." She'd killed suspects before, but this was the first time a bystander had died because of her.

Eric wished he could wrap his arms around her and tell her that it wasn't her fault, but the best way to help her would be to process the scene, prove her version of the incident, get ahead of the IAB investigation. And to do that he needed all the facts. He hated what he had to ask, because it could just make her feel more guilty. "Listen Calleigh," he said as gently as he could, "I need to ask you something, and I don't want you to take it the wrong way. I know you're off duty; have you been drinking?" He watched her closely as he spoke, hoping he wasn't hurting her.

She looked away again. "You know, the paramedic asked me that question." She paused for a long moment. "I had two mimosas, but it doesn't have anything to do with what happened." It was harder to lie to Eric than to the paramedic. She only had one mimosa; the other was Jake's. But she didn't want IAB to find out she was still seeing Jake. She blinked quickly, trying not to cry. "It's my day off."

Eric could no longer resist touching her. He tentatively rested his hand on her shoulder, half afraid the gesture of sympathy would only upset her more. "You don't have to explain anything to me, okay? I understand. I believe you. It's just not me that you gotta worry about." He pulled her closer. She leaned her head against his shoulder. Her hand grasped his, as though afraid he would let go of her.

That was when he noticed something gleaming on the ring finger of her left hand.

She never wore her engagement ring to work, of course, not just because she was keeping her relationship with Jake a secret, but also because it could snag on the latex gloves she frequently had to wear. That she was wearing the ring now didn't even cross her mind.

The moment Eric saw it, he figured out that Calleigh was still seeing Jake--probably had never stopped, which did explain the way she'd been acting the past few months--and that they were engaged. And he realized to his surprise that it didn't bother him right now. He was too glad that Calleigh wasn't hurt. All he cared about was comforting her.

Harriet Monroe, "Love Song":

I love my life, but not too well  
To give it to thee like a flower,  
So it may pleasure thee to dwell  
Deep in its perfume but an hour.  
I love my life, but not too well.

I love my life, but not too well  
To sing it note by note away,  
So to thy soul the song may tell  
The beauty of the desolate day.  
I love my life, but not too well.

I love my life, but not too well  
To cast it like a cloak on thine,  
Against the storms that sound and swell  
Between thy lonely heart and mine.  
I love my life, but not too well.

"If Stetler finds out that I'm here, he will have my head," Calleigh said sternly as she walked up to Jake at the crime scene.

"Well I don't need you to do any field work; I just wanted to talk," Jake replied. Calleigh didn't look happy with him, and he couldn't figure out why. "If I'm gonna be working the case, it would be better to hear it from you than reading it from the report."

"Well, technically, I don't know that you can do that."

"What do you mean?" he asked. He flashed the half smile that he always brought out when trying to get out of trouble, especially when he wasn't sure what he was in trouble for. Sometimes Calleigh thought it was cute, but right now that little quirk of his just seemed childish.

"Well, you got to the restaurant this morning before I did, right?"

"Yeah."

"So, I know about all the drinks you ordered before I got there. Stetler showed me your receipt."

Jake itched his nose as he floundered for a way out of this one. "Yeah. I ran into some buddies, bought a round."

Calleigh couldn't decide if she wanted to scream or cry. Instead she spoke quietly and carefully. "Jake, you know that my dad is a...fairly accomplished drinker, and I have heard every excuse and half-truth, so...you wanna just tell me the real story?"

"What difference does it make?"

"The difference is that your four drinks brought my actions today in question."

He looked impatient. "Calleigh," he said condescendingly, "when I was undercover I had to do a few things that I'm not proud of. But I'm not like your old man. This morning I was just a guy...on off-duty cop trying to enjoy himself."

"I'm just not sure that you're the on-duty cop who needs to be working this case," Calleigh said.

One of the reasons Calleigh was skittish about relationships was her fear of marrying a man like her father. Now, learning that Jake may have a drinking problem of his own...for the first time she was having serious second thoughts about the marriage. She decided to consider it later. Today she already had too many emotional blows to deal with. Not to mention that until the investigation was over, she didn't know if she'd even have a job, and then who knew where she'd end up? She had IAB breathing down her neck, the suspect claiming she'd fired at them unnecessarily, people who'd known her for years questioning her competence...on top of all that there was no way she could deal with Jake.

When Eric summoned her to the scene, she was hoping it wouldn't be more bad news.

She spotted him across the road, taking something from a tree. She watched him for a moment before crossing the street. The sureness that seemed embodied in his posture and his movements reassured her. If anyone could make this horrible day better, it was him.

"Hey. Why did you want me to come down?"

"Pete Morton," Eric answered, "told Horatio that there was a truck parked at this corner, blocking their escape route."

"Yeah. I told Stetler that it wasn't there, but then again, he thinks I was drunk." She managed a laugh.

Eric smiled. "Well you were right." He pointed to a small hole in the tree. "Take a look at this bullet strike here. I pulled this out of it." He held up a small evidence bag with a bullet in it. "Look familiar?"

Her relief showed in her smile. "Yeah. It's a .45."

"And I bet it's yours. It missed the suspect's car and struck the tree."

"You know, that proves there's no way that there was a truck there."

"Proves Pete Morton's story's BS," Eric said, anger at what Calleigh had been put through kept him from sharing her happiness. "They weren't looking for an escape route; they had one." He fixed his eyes on her. "They were coming back to kill you. Stetler's wrong. You did what you had to do."

"Thanks Eric," she said.

"Don't thank me. Thank, uh...thank Jake." It was a difficult thing for Eric to say, but he now knew how important Jake and Calleigh were to each other, and as much as it hurt him he was going to accept and support that. "He just called me down here and asked me to handle it."

"Jake asked you to do this?" Calleigh asked incredulously. She was astounded that Jake would ever let someone else take the credit for something he found. And that Eric, who had never liked Jake, would give him the credit anyway.

"Guess he's a stand-up guy after all," he said.

She stared at him. Eric had figured out she was still with Jake, of that she was sure--which meant that what he just said was his way of giving them his blessing.

On the same day that she'd learned Jake wasn't as good a man as she'd thought, she saw Eric was an even better one. It made her less sure than ever about her decision to accept Jake's proposal.

Kim So-wol, _The Azalea_:

When you take your leave,  
Tired of seeing me,  
Gently and silently I'll bid you go.

From Mount Yag of Yongbyon  
An armful of azaleas I shall pick,  
And strew them in your path.

Go now I pray, with short steps!  
Let each footstep gently tread  
The flowers which I have spread for you.

When you take your leave,  
Tired of seeing me,  
Though I should die, I shall not weep.


	51. Disillusioned

Sources: _Great Short Poems,_ Paul Negri; _The Tale of Genji, _Murasaki Shikibu.

Chronology: "CSI: My Nanny"

Sara Teasdale, "The Kiss":

I hoped that he would love me,  
And he has kissed my mouth.  
But I am like a stricken bird  
That cannot reach the south.

For though I know he loves me,  
To-night my heart is sad;  
His kiss was not so wonderful  
As all the dreams I had.

"You know you really shouldn't eat that," Calleigh said pointedly about the bowl of sugared cereal that Jake regarded as appropriate breakfast food.

"I've been eating it since I was two, and it hasn't killed me yet."

"You're not two anymore. You might act like it sometimes, but you're not." Calleigh teased. She ate a bite of her own breakfast: oatmeal with fruit.

"It's more edible than what you've got."

She chuckled. After a minute of eating slowly in silence, she looked up at him. "What do you think about kids?" she asked.

Jake blinked in surprise. He dropped his spoon, leaned back, and looked at her. "Wow. Where did that come from?"

"Well, it's something I think we need to talk about, don't you?"

"Yeah, but...don't you think it's a little sudden?"

"Well, we're getting married. I don't know, when did you want to talk about it?"

"After the honeymoon, at least. I don't know. Do you want kids?"

"Maybe. Eventually," she replied.

"Why?"

Calleigh found she couldn't quite articulate her reasons. "Well...having someone to take care of, to watch growing up..."

"We can get a puppy."

She sighed in frustration.

Jake leaned forward and tried to sound conciliatory. "Okay, I know it's not the same thing. But do you really want kids, or do you just feel like you're expected to? I know how much your job means to you, and how much of your time you devote to it. Think about how much time and energy a kid would take up. I don't know about you, but I don't want to stay home to take care of it all day."

"I know it wouldn't be easy, but a lot of people manage to raise children and have a career at the same time."

"You're right," he said. "I just think it's something we should really think about carefully. Can we talk about it later?"

"Yeah. That's a good idea, I have to get to work," Calleigh said, wishing she'd never brought it up. She put her dishes in the sink, grabbed her keys, and left as quickly as she could.

It wasn't like she hadn't already given it plenty of thought. She'd decided long ago that, if she found the right man and settled down, having children was something she wanted. But obviously Jake didn't. It wasn't like it was a deal-breaker, though. She could be happy without children, and he did have a point. She tried not to let their conversation bother her.

Ise, Kokinshu 31:

Wild geese leaving the mists of spring behind them--  
Is it that they prefer a blossomless land?

The case was a nanny stabbed to death in her employers' house while they were outside having a party.

Calleigh and Eric were searching the room of Jonah Lambert, one of the children the victim took care of.

"Can you imagine raising a family without any help?" she asked, still thinking about what Jake had said that morning. "I mean, you know, given the hours we work?"

"Yeah, I could. Definitely," he said without hesitation. He'd seen his parents raise four children while both working full-time jobs, and he was sure that he could find a way to manage it, given the opportunity.

Calleigh turned toward him. "Really?"

"Yeah. Why? You think I wouldn't be a good dad?"

"No; I think you'd be a great dad," she said as she examined the clothes in the closet. "I just never heard you mention having children before."

"I don't know. Maybe when I find the...right girl." Ever since he'd figured out Calleigh was engaged, Eric had been trying to avoid thinking about her romantically, but it was hard not to imagine how beautiful her children would be. He was failing completely at envisioning a "right girl" who didn't bear a strong resemblance to her.

Calleigh pressed her lips together tightly to get rid of the smile that accompanied the thought of Eric with children. His right girl would be an extraordinarily lucky woman.

The smile went away as she began to wonder if she could have been that lucky woman, if she hadn't chosen Jake.

Murasaki Shikibu:

I think to find her equal, and my sleeves  
Are deep in tears as the land in morning mist.


	52. Aloe vera

Sources: _The Kokinshu;_ Everyman's Library Pocket Poets_ Love Poems_.

Author's note: While I don't have a TV screen big enough to confirm this, I think it would be cool if the ring Calleigh wore in "Sink or Swim" in case she had to pretend to be engaged to Eric is the same one she was wearing in "Stand Your Ground."

Chronology: mid Season 6.

Ise, Kokinshu 741:

his heart is surely  
not a village where I once  
dwelt why then does it  
seem to be deserted why  
have the walls of love crumbled

It took a while for her to begin to realize he was gone. The last night they spent together had been unremarkable. They'd gone out to dinner, then to her house. They left for work at the same time the next morning. He hadn't said or done anything to make her even consider something was wrong.

She'd called him the next day, leaving a message on his voice mail that she had Saturday off in case he wanted to go to a game. He never got back to her. She figured he was busy.

But then days went by, and he still didn't call her. She didn't call him, either, figuring he'd see her message and get back to her if he wanted to. She wasn't the type to call a man more than once without a reply, even if that man was her fiance. She sent him an e-mail telling him what days would be least busy in the upcoming week, so they could get together sometime.

That week went by, and she left a message on his cell phone and his home phone, saying she was just checking in. When two more days passed in silence, she called his lieutenant, using the excuse that she was going to testify in court about a case she had worked with Officer Berkeley, and wanted to go over some details with him. She was informed that Berkeley had transferred out.

And that's when she guessed what was really going on. The suspicion had been growing for several days that Jake had gone back undercover. She knew how much he missed the excitement and thrill of that work. He always did love playing the bad boy.

At work she barely thought about it. She had cases to occupy her, friends to joke with, appearances to keep up. No one suspected anything was wrong. But as soon as she got home, she would check her messages with a mix of hope, apprehension, and weariness. Her house seemed so empty and quiet, she hated being there. Sometimes she felt very angry, and would go jogging to clear her head. All she told her parents, who knew about the engagement, was that she and Jake were taking a break from each other. Her mother, who had never met Jake but had been overjoyed when she heard her daughter was getting married, reacted with dismay, and then condolence. Her father, who barely knew Jake and was convinced his little Lambchop deserved better (richer) than a cop, was pleased, and offered to help her celebrate. She politely declined.

She didn't talk to anyone else about it. And she didn't shed a single tear.

Why had she believed Jake had changed enough that he wouldn't do this to her again?

Because she had the ring. That stupid ring.

She used to put it on as soon as she got home from work, but now it sat at the edge of her bathroom sink, untouched. She saw it every day, diamonds catching the light, and she felt a little ill. He was going to marry her. They were supposed to get married. Sure, she'd been having second thoughts about it, but everyone does, and she wouldn't have backed out. But if she had, she would have told him instead of just disappearing. How could he just leave, without a word, just like that?

She didn't really feel heartbroken this time. Just disappointed.

Another week passed without a word from him, and she wrapped the ring in a small black cloth, tucked it in the back of one of her jewelry boxes, and didn't look at it again for a very long time.

Thomas Hardy, from "The Going":

Why did you give no hint that night  
That quickly after the morrow's dawn,  
And calmly, as if indifferent quite,  
You would close your term here, up and be gone  
Where I could not follow  
With wing of swallow  
To gain one glimpse of you ever anon!

Never to bid good-bye,  
Or lip me the softest call,  
Or utter a wish for a word, while I  
Saw morning harden upon the wall,  
Unmoved, unknowing  
That your great going  
Had place that moment, and altered all.

Why do you make me leave the house  
And think for a breath it is you I see  
At the end of the alley of bending boughs  
Where so often at dusk you used to be;  
Till in darkening dankness  
The yawning blankness  
Of the perspective sickens me!


	53. Varia Lecto

Sources: Everyman's Library Pocket Poets _Love Poems; Tale of Genji; 2001 Waka _website.

Author's note: After giving it much thought, I don't actually think this is what they were talking about. But it could have been, and it fits better with my story than the more obvious interpretation.

Chronology: "In the Wind"

Paul Valery, trans. Alistair Elliot, "The Footsteps":

Your steps, born of my silence here,  
Process with slow, religious tread,  
Dumbly and icily, to where  
I lie awake, on watch, in bed.

Pure person, shade of deity,  
Your steps, held back, are doubly sweet.  
God!--all the gifts I could foresee  
Are coming now on those bare feet!

If you advance your lips to make  
A peace with hunger, and to press  
The inhabitant of my thoughts to take  
The thoughtful nourishment of a kiss,

Don't hurry with their tender dew,  
Sweetness complete and incomplete;  
For I have lived to wait for you:  
My heart was your approaching feet.

Eric opened his eyes when he heard her return. She had thrown on his rumpled shirt, the first item of clothing she'd come across on the floor when she climbed out of bed a few minutes ago after waking up in his arms, kissing him good morning, mumbling that it was a few hours before she had to leave for work in reply to his groggy question about the time, and promising him she'd be right back as he muffled her words with his lips.

He smiled. His shirt almost reached her knees, and there was something both comical and intimate about her wearing it.

His hands rose to meet her as she climbed onto bed. She smiled at him, and pushed her tousled hair out of her face. As she straddled him he sat up to kiss her. She slowly peeled off his undershirt. Their hands, lips, and eyes caressed each other in a sensual silence that sweet nothings would only have tarnished. In contrast to the previous night, this early morning lovemaking promised to be slow and deliberate.

It still amazed Eric that he had the privilege to touch her like this. It still felt like a dream come true.

Eric was reveling in the sensation of Calleigh's hair, lips, and tongue on his chest when his phone started vibrating. He reluctantly removed his hand from her hair to reach for it.

She sat up. "You answer that, I'll kill you," she threatened.

"It's the state attorney's office."

"Use other investigators."

"I know. I don't start for a week," he mumbled. "It must be important."

Then Calleigh's phone began trilling. She read the text that she needed to be at the lab ASAP.

Eric answered his phone. "Delko."

Calleigh trailed one finger over Eric's chest, looking down at him fondly. As frustrating as the interruption was, his dedication to his work was one of the reasons she loved him so much. "I'll make coffee," she whispered.

Oyakame of Buzen, Manyoshu 709:

Dark the way and dangerous. Can you not stay  
At least until you have the moon to guide you?

Calleigh was relieved when the case was over, when the evidence revealed that the right man had been convicted fifteen years ago.

She saw Eric in the locker room. "Hey. You going to the gym?"

"Yeah." He stood up, smiling shyly at the memory of what they'd left unfinished that morning.

"About last night," she said, "I know that we...keep saying that it's not going to happen anymore..."

He knew what she was talking about. Last night, as they followed their passions to her bed, there was something that had slipped their minds. Again.

Eric had always been careful. He'd known many women over the years, and there had been plenty of poor judgment calls, but he'd never had unprotected sex before Calleigh. Of course, he knew condoms weren't infallible (otherwise he and Natalia would never have had that pregnancy scare), but he'd never neglected that one simple protective measure, no matter what.

But lately, he'd been making exceptions. Part of it was that she was so insanely attractive that whenever he touched her he couldn't think about anything else, but he suspected there was more to it than that.

"Yeah. But it keeps happening," he pointed out, almost teasing. He looked at her, trying to discern her thoughts. They both wanted children, but they hadn't talked about when. "That a bad thing?"

"I don't know that we should talk about it here." She glanced pointedly at the people passing in the hall behind him.

He looked behind him, then back at her. "So what: your place or mine?" he asked, smiling. Wherever they decided to talk about it, they both knew where that talk would end up.

She smiled, rolling her eyes.

They walked out together.

Izumi Shikibu_, Goshuishu_ 801, trans. Thomas McAuley:

In love with you  
My heart has many  
Worries, yet  
Not a single one  
Would I be without.


	54. Changing Light

Sources: _The Kokinshu;_ Rumi, _Birdsong_, trans. Coleman Barks; _Immortal Poems of the English Language, _ed. Oscar Williams.

Chronology: "Guerrillas in the Mist."

Ki no Tsurayuki, _Kokinshu_ 371:

how I shall miss you  
after you have disappeared  
like the soft white clouds  
which float across the heavens--  
you for whom I yearn today

Eric had seen so many terrible crime scenes, but he had never before seen bodies reduced to bloodstains by a spray of bullets. He couldn't imagine what had gone down here. He tried not to think about it, instead just looking for any possible evidence of who was behind it. He found a cigarette butt and bagged it, then he looked around and noticed Calleigh. She'd been examining the bullets near one of the bloodstains. The expression on her face concerned him. It was hard to tell, but she looked dazed, maybe even a little bit scared. But that didn't make sense: what could scare Calleigh?

He went to her. "You okay?"

"I've never seen anything like this," she stated.

Eric agreed. "I don't know if we're ever gonna be able to tell how many people died here today."

"There were three."

"How can you tell?" he asked.

"Because I found the remains of three pairs of shoes."

He stared at her for a moment as it sunk in that three people had been filled so full of bullets that literally all that was left of them was their shoes. "Well, we're going to get these guys."

"We'd better." Calleigh's voice caught with unmistakable fear.

Eric held up the evidence bag containing the cigarette. "I'm hoping that this can tell us who our shooters are," he said, trying to sound reassuring.

She shook her head slightly. "You mean 'shooter'," she informed him.

"You gotta be kidding me. All of these rounds, you think they were all fired from one gun, one person?"

She held up a bullet. "Do you see this round?" she asked in the kind of quiet voice someone might use to relate a ghost story. "It requires no casing. And every other one I've picked up is exactly the same. There is only one weapon I know that can fire something like this: it's the DX4. It's nickname is the Vaporizer."

His eyes had grown as wide as hers. "I've never heard of it."

"That's because it's illegal. It's an electronic gun. It has over two hundred individually firing barrels. When the trigger is pulled an electronic current hits a primer on the back of each round. 'Cause there are no moving parts, there's nothing to slow it down. It's capable of firing a hundred thousand rounds per minute."

Eric felt dizzy just considering the kind of damage that weapon could do. That explained why Calleigh was so shaken up.

"I'd seen something like this on paper," she continued, "but I didn't know it existed yet."

"Well it does. Someone in Miami has one."

"If we don't find it, we're going to see a lot more crime scenes like this one."

Eric nodded, then started walking away quickly. "I'll get this to the lab," he announced with a new-found urgency.

Rumi:

Pale sunlight,  
pale the wall.

Love moves away.  
The light changes.

I need more grace  
than I thought.

When Calleigh heard Eric had been involved in a shoot-out, she immediately thought of her own recent officer-involved shooting. It was never easy to go through something like that.

It was her job to gather and analyze the ballistic evidence from the shooting, but foremost in her thoughts was making sure Eric was okay.

As much as she tried to ignore it, she was feeling more and more for him. He was one of her closest friends, and if circumstances had been different, maybe they could have been more. But after Jake she was sure she could never let anyone get that close to her again. And she couldn't do that to Eric, not if he really cared about her.

She arrived at the alley, where Eric and some uniformed officers were waiting.

"You okay?" she asked him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah," he answered. "But I'll be better when we get these guys."

"Well, let's take a look." She pulled on her gloves and began examining the alley.

"Shots were fired from over there." Eric pointed toward a building.

Calleigh moved toward it. She spotted something on the ground and stooped to pick it up. "Got a three-oh-eight casing," she said. "This didn't come from the Vaporizer." She'd had a terrible image in her mind of finding nothing left of Eric but his bloody shoes. She wasn't sure if she could have handled that. It would have crushed her.

He walked toward her. He was being quiet, avoiding her eyes. There was something he wasn't telling her, something he was ashamed of. It took Calleigh only a moment to connect the evidence she was seeing and what she knew of Eric to form a theory about what had happened to make him feel like that.

"You know what's weird," she said, figuring the best way to help him was to let him know she'd already figured it out, "I don't see any of your bullet strikes here."

"Yeah. I tried to get a beat on the shooters. By the time I did they took off."

"You know whatever is said between us stays between us, right?" she asked, her tone low and confidential.

He stared at her, worried about what she would say next.

"Did you freeze?" she inquired.

After a moment, he shook his head slightly. "No, I didn't. It's just when they, uh...started shooting it took me back to that day. I, uh...I felt like I was getting shot all over again," he confessed, recalling what his therapist had been telling him about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. If it became common knowledge that a flashback had prevented him from returning fire on a suspect and almost gotten him killed, he could lose his job. But he trusted Calleigh.

"Well, why don't we just focus on the here-and-now." She flashed a small smile, and he suddenly felt reassured. "We've got a shooter to catch."

Now that she was here, he felt safe. And he was beginning to feel like having a flashback during a shootout wasn't as terrible as he'd thought. After all, he'd survived it. Simply being with her made everything seem better. He'd never loved anyone like that before; he was happy just being with her, even knowing that she'd never be his.

Anonymous:

There is a Lady sweet and kind,  
Was never face so pleased my mind;  
I did but see her passing by,  
And yet I love her till I die.

Her gesture, motion, and her smiles,  
Her wit, her voice my heart beguiles,  
Beguiles my heart, I know not why,  
And yet I love her till I die.

Cupid is wingèd and doth range,  
Her country so my love hath changed:  
But change she earth, or change she sky,  
Yet will I love her till I die.___  
_


	55. Wisteria

Sources: _The Tale of Genji_; 2001 Waka website.

Chronology: "You May Now Kill the Bride"

Murasaki Shikibu:

The voice of the warbler lays a deeper spell  
Over one already enchanted by the blossoms.

Aside from work, Eric hadn't been in a strip club in years. He just hadn't had the money or the time, he thought, not letting himself wonder if there were other reasons.

The dancer who entertained the ballplayer's bachelor party was a definite contender for who Susan got in a fight with before her death.

"I'm Kelly," she introduced herself. "You wanted to see me?"

Eric couldn't help but look her over. He wouldn't mind seeing her on a pole. She was tall, slender, with brown hair and pouting lips--exactly the type he used to go for. But he pushed that line of thought away quickly. "Yeah. You hosted Greg Tanner's bachelor party last night?"

"I didn't _host_ it exactly...but hey, if that works for you."

"Was there a problem between you and Greg's fiancee? Any sort of confrontation?"

She shook her head. "No."

"We know she was in here last night, and found skin under her fingernails. Female DNA. I'd be happy to swab you for comparison." Perhaps because he was deliberately trying not to, he couldn't help but make that sound like a double-entendre.

She scoffed. "Keep your _swab _in your pocket, officer," she said, obviously having noticed or guessed that he was attracted to her. "She was here; she waved me over."

"What, to confront you about dancing for Greg?"

She smiled condescendingly. "You don't get it, do you? She wanted me to _dance_ for her."

Eric couldn't help but imagine the scene. "So you gave the man's fiancee a lap dance."

"Hey, maybe she wanted to learn what turns Greg on."

Calleigh chose just that moment to show up. "Looks like there was something going on here last night besides dancing," she announced, holding up a bagged bullet.

"Now we've got a bullet," Eric said. "Still saying nothing happened?" he asked Kelly.

"Well, not until it started raining," she answered.

Calleigh raised her eyebrows.

"What do you mean 'raining'?"

"Ballplayers want to be like rappers," Kelly explained. "Greg and his guys started showering dancers with hundreds, making it rain. His bodyguard put a stop to that with one shot from his little gun. He said something like, 'Drop the money or the next one's coming towards you.'"

"That's probably what the bodyguard was hiding when Tripp pulled him over," said Eric.

"It would also explain why his gun had been fired," Calleigh noted. "Think this is our missing round."

"Striations match the gun, the bodyguard's off the hook."

"Yep," Calleigh agreed.

"Is there anything else you need from me?" Kelly asked.

"No. If we do, we'll be in touch," Calleigh said.

Kelly started walking away, but--perhaps noticing Eric's attraction to the other CSI and wanting to tease him some more--paused to whisper in Calleigh's ear. "Touching's extra."

Eric had to laugh at the startled look on Calleigh's face. The image of Calleigh and Kelly together was one that he would have trouble getting out of his mind.

"This is a _very _sexy day at the office," she chuckled.

Murasaki Shikibu:

Let us blame the wisteria, of too pale a hue,  
Though the pine has let itself be overgrown.

After figuring out the gun that killed Susan had been mounted beneath the couple's car, Eric and Calleigh returned to the crime scene. They used a laser to find the chair where the intended target was sitting.

"So whoever was sitting in that chair was our intended victim," Calleigh said.

"Yeah, well why did the shot kill the bride?" Eric wondered. It seemed like such a reckless, irresponsible way to kill someone. Anyone attending the wedding could have taken the bullet instead.

"I don't know," Calleigh said. "Let's recreate the moment."

They went to the spot where the bride and groom had been standing when the shot was fired. Calleigh picked up the veil with the cubic zirconia, gave him a warning look, and fitted it on her own head.

Eric almost laughed. There was, of course, no probative reason for her to wear the veil--she just wanted to try it on, to play a little dress-up. But the crooked half-smile on his face drifted away as another thought came to him.

Calleigh was wearing white today, reinforcing the illusion. She looked good in white. Of course, she looked extraordinary in everything.

The bride and groom had been standing exactly here, exactly where Eric and Calleigh were now standing.

Greg and Susan had chosen a beautiful spot for their wedding. The lush grass glowed in the sunlight. White and purple wisteria dripped from the surrounding columns, perfuming the bright air with their candy-like fragrance.

"If you tell anyone I did this, I'll kill you," she playfully threatened.

Eric took a deep breath, trying to get over the spell he was under and think about the case. "You are the same height as the bride, right?"

"And I'm wearing her fake veil."

"With the lighter stones."

"And, with a precision shot like this, as little as a millimeter can mean life or death."

Eric raised his eyebrow, trying to look like he was contemplating the case, instead of what a beautiful bride Calleigh would make.

"So the fake stones put Susan Austin in the line of fire." She took a step toward him. The laser made a red glow at one spot on the veil. She waited for Eric to say something, but he seemed a little distracted, staring at the veil. "The bullet hit the zirconium and fragmented into her head."

"So the true target was behind her."

"All we need now is a name," Calleigh concluded.

The moment would stay with Eric, reappearing in dreams and daydreams, becoming the memory he called up whenever he needed a happy thought. He'd hoped he might still get over her, but now he realized that wasn't going to happen. It was crazy; he'd never even kissed her and he was already sure he wanted to marry her.

Lady Ise, _Ise Shū_ 38, trans. Thomas McAuley:

Of wisteria blooms  
I caught sight, today, and ever since  
As violet  
Of the deepest hue, my passion,  
Grows ever more profound!


	56. Dream

Sources: _Kokinshu__; Only Companion_, trans. Sam Hamill;_ Love Poems by Women_, ed. Wendy Mulford.

Chronology: Season 6.

Ono no Komachi,_ Kokinshu_ 657:

guided by a love  
that has no bounds I shall go  
to him by darkness--  
surely no one will question  
one who treads the path of dreams

It was getting late. It had been a long day, a strange case.

Eric was reading over a ballistics report as he entered the crime scene. He turned a corner and nearly hit into Calleigh.

"Hey," she said. "I didn't know you were still here."

"I had to come back to check on a hunch. I think there was just one shooter."

"But we found bullets from two different guns," she said.

"The suspect could've had one gun in each hand. The trajectory of the shots could tell us for sure. I just got the feeling in interrogation that all that talk about an accomplice was a little far-fetched."

"Well, your hunches are always worth following up. Need a hand?"

He smiled. "I could use one."

They set up laser sights in the bullet holes. When they were done, the lights converged on two points next to each other.

Eric sighed. "It's equivocal. There could still be two shooters."

Calleigh looked at the wall, then the center of the room. "If there were two shooters, there should be some overlap with the bullets' distribution. There's not. I think you're right, Turan was the only shooter. She was working alone."

"But do we have enough to prove it?"

"Not yet. But she doesn't need to know that." Calleigh began walking away, but when she noticed Eric lingering, examining the wall, she turned back to him. "Hey, has anyone ever told you you're a great CSI?"

He looked at her and smiled. "Yeah. But it means a lot coming from you."

She stood beside him. "Has anyone ever told you you have a beautiful smile?"

His smile grew. He nearly laughed, staring at her. "Not that I can remember."

"Has anyone ever told you you have beautiful eyes?"

He turned toward her. "My mom says she did the day I was born."

"Well has anyone ever told you that you're also very sexy?"

He laughed in shock. "Honestly, yeah. But it's nice hearing you say it."

Her voice was now a whisper. "Did you know that you make me dizzy?"

"You're killing me," he said fondly. They gazed at each other for a moment. Then, unable to resist, he kissed her.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. His strong arms encircled her, pulling her closer.

Anonymous, _Manyoshu_ 2917, trans. Sam Hamill:

Is it true my love  
has finally come to see me,  
or am I dreaming?  
Am I sane? Or is she  
An invention of my needing?

They gradually became aware of a buzzing sound, growing more and more insistent. Calleigh reached out to silence it, but couldn't find it. She pulled away to look for it, reached out, and smacked the snooze button on her alarm clock.

It took her a few seconds more to realize she wasn't wrapped in Eric's arms, but in the tangled mass of her blankets.

"Dammit!" she whispered. She lay back and closed her eyes, trying to retain the feelings the dream had created (or had they created the dream?). It had felt so real, the emotions inside her so strong...

But it was just a dream, and now it was fading away like frost in the morning light.

Christina Rossetti, "Echo":

Come to me in the silence of the night;  
Come in the speaking silence of a dream;  
Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright  
As sunlight on a stream;  
Come back in tears,  
O memory, hope and love of finished years.

O dream how sweet, too sweet, too bitter-sweet,  
Whose wakening should have been in Paradise,  
Where souls brim-full of love abide and meet;  
Where thirsting longing eyes  
Watch the slow door  
That opening, letting in, lets out no more.

Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live  
My very life again though cold in death;  
Come back to me in dreams, that I may give  
Pulse for pulse, breath for breath:  
Speak low, lean low,  
As long ago, my love, how long ago.


	57. Dreamless

Sources: _Kokinshu__; Tale of Genji; 2001 Waka _website.

Chronology: Season 6.

Anonymous, Kokinshu 524:

have my longings ranged  
too far in quest of my love--  
even on dream roads  
I wander bewildered alone--  
no one comes to meet me there

It wasn't the first time thinking about Calleigh had kept him awake.

In the solitary darkness of night, anything can seem possible, and sometimes his mind alternated between trying to forget about her and thinking of ways he could get her to fall in love with him. He was still trying to figure out what had happened with Calleigh and Jake. After not working with Jake on any cases for a couple of months, Eric had begun to suspect he'd quit or transferred. At first, he was sure it was so they could get married without IAB objecting, but then when more time passed and Calleigh didn't say anything about the engagement, be began to wonder if they'd broken up. He hadn't found a subtle way to ask her, and she never brought it up. Of course, if they _did _break up, the only reason he could think of for her not telling him was because she didn't want to encourage him to court her. Which would mean she really had no feelings for him, he wasn't even her second choice. But then, on the other hand, maybe she just didn't know Eric knew they were even still together, in which case there would be no reason to tell him they'd broken up. Maybe she was waiting for him to make a move. But, more likely, if he did she would think he was being a jerk; she'd already let him know she wasn't interested in him by getting engaged to Jake.

Eric opened his eyes and looked at his clock. There was still an hour and a half before his alarm would go off, but he doubted he'd get any more sleep than he already had, so he decided to just get up. He wasn't entirely sure he'd slept at all.

Still bleary-eyed and drowsy, he walked to the kitchen to make his coffee by the thin light of early dawn.

Lady Ise, _Zoku Kokka Taikan 18158_:

The jeweled blinds are drawn, the morning is dark.  
I had not thought I would not even dream.

Calleigh entered the locker room that morning to find Eric already there. He was staring straight ahead, seemingly lost in thought.

"Good morning," she said.

His face shifted in her direction a few inches, but he didn't look at her. "Morning."

"You look tired." She noted the deep lines under his eyes.

"I couldn't sleep." He both hoped and feared that she would ask him why, because then maybe he could tell her he couldn't sleep because he couldn't stop thinking about her.

Her expression softened. They'd had some hard cases recently. "Unfortunately, a few sleepless nights come with the job," she said sympathetically.

He nodded. "Yeah."

"If you ever want to talk..."

"Thanks, but I do enough talking about things like that with my therapist," he said jokingly.

Calleigh forced a smile. "That's good." When her friends wanted to pretend nothing was wrong, she would usually play along, not because she necessarily thought it was the best thing to do, but because she had trouble dealing with problems in her own personal life, much less someone else's.

Ki no Tomonori, _Kokinshu_ 753:

There's not a cloud  
in the morning's calm (I weep).  
It seems I,  
Despised (so clear)  
have passed the night.


	58. Mox Nox

Sources: _Oi no Kobumi, _Matsuo Basho; _Great Short Poems, _ed. Paul Negri; _The White Pony: An Anthology of Chinese Poetry, _editor Robert Payne; _The Tale of Genji_; the _Kokinshu_; Everyman's Library Pocket Poets' _Indian Love Poems, _ed. Meena Alexander; _Tales of Ise__; wikisource. _

Chronology: "Ambush" and "All In."

Matsuo Basho:

The trapped octopus's  
fleeting dream:  
the summer moon.

How Kathleen Newberry must have felt, taped to her steering wheel, fully conscious but unable to escape as her car sank, watching the water close off the view of the sky-the last view of the world she would ever see...

Murder was never pleasant, but whoever did that to her was especially horrible.

"Something's off," Calleigh said as she photographed the car.

"What's that?" Eric asked.

"Her Sun Pass is missing. Remember, we tracked her as far north as Boca."

"Yeah. And then her car ended up all the way back down here," he mused.

"Yeah, that doesn't add up."

Eric nodded. He was thinking the same thing Calleigh suspected: someone had stolen the Sun Pass before dumping Kathleen Newberry's car, probably the same person who killed her. "All right, we still have the court order to check the Sun Pass archives; might be worth looking into."

"Yeah. Maybe the killer made a mistake. The Sun Pass could take us right to him."

"I'll make the call," Eric said.

As he turned to walk away, a slip of paper fell out of his pocket. Calleigh stooped to pick it up. She looked it over curiously.

It was a list. A list of basic crime scene procedures. The kind of stuff every CSI-One knew by heart.

She glanced up, but Eric was already gone.

Finding that list had shocked her, and it worried her. She knew Eric had some difficulties coming back to work after getting shot. She had, after all, been the first to know he'd forgotten something as huge as his sister's death. But that had been a year ago, and she thought he'd recovered completely. She'd for months now been relying on him and trusting his judgment just as much as she had before he was shot. He was still having trouble and he hadn't even told her?

She had to confront him about this, but she had to do it carefully: Eric was still a good CSI - that was one thing she was sure of with all her heart - but he sometimes didn't believe that himself.

Edna St. Vincent Millay, "First Fig":

My candle burns at both ends;  
It will not last the night;  
But ah, my foes and oh, my friends-  
It gives a lovely light.

Calleigh was shocked that Dan Cooper would do something like this. The website was horrible enough, a website devoted entirely to attacking her credibility and competence - but to find out who was behind it was worse than a slap in the face.

"Hey Cooper," she said tersely when he opened his door. She walked past him into his apartment.

"Come right in, Cal," he said sarcastically.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"This." She gestured to the four laptops set up on his desk. It worried her that he'd gone through so much trouble to attack her: he'd become obsessed with revenge.

"I've always wanted to start a website," he said with a callously dismissive shrug. "Now I finally have the time. Thanks to you, by the way."

"Okay, look: I understand that you're angry. I also understand that you blame me for losing your job-"

He cut her off. "I'm not angry. I used Speedle's credit card, you caught me. The lab cannot afford judgment errors by its employees," he threw back the exact words she used when she made her recommendation to Horatio that Cooper be dismissed. "I'm just trying to ensure that."

She couldn't believe what he was saying. "You do realize that destroying crime scene photos is an obstruction of justice, don't you?"

"Something happen to your photos?"

"My memory card was swapped, but you already know that, because I've already seen my crime scene photos on your website."

"The website's a public forum: any user can post a comment or photo. You can search my place if you want to, but...thank you; now I've got my next post for the site."

"Okay, you know what, Cooper, when you were fired I opted not to press charges. Please, do not force me into rethinking that decision, okay?"

"_I _haven't done anything wrong," he claimed, implying that she had. "None of this is against the law."

Calleigh was beginning to know how a victim of stalking felt: she couldn't remember ever feeling so violated, vulnerable, frustrated, and helpless to stop it. She wished she could just force Cooper to be reasonable. Instead she tried to appeal to his humanity and the ghost of their friendship. "You're not that guy. You made one mistake; don't make it worse."

"I'll see you at the next crime scene," he responded.

"I _really_ hope you don't." She walked out.

William Shakespeare, from _As You Like It_:

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,  
Thou are not so unkind  
As man's ingratitude;  
Thy tooth is not so keen,  
Because thou are not seen,  
Although thy breath be rude.  
Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:  
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.

On top of the investigation into Kathleen Newberry's murder, the evidence of Eric's continued cognitive difficulties, and Cooper's horrible website, Calleigh now had to deal with Horatio being extradited to Brazil on murder charges.

"Horatio, I want you to know that we're going to be here for you no matter what," she told him as he prepared to leave. She meant no matter _what_: if he wanted to make an escape, fake his own death, hide out, whatever, she would help him.

"We need to stay focused on the Newberry case," he instructed her. If he didn't resolve the situation in Brazil...if he didn't come back, the lab would be in her hands. He found that comforting: there was no one else in the world he would rather entrust his team to.

"Okay. I just got a call on a possible lead; I'm going to head there now. We'll hold down the fort," she concluded, expressing her confidence that Horatio would be back to take over again.

"I'd appreciate that, ma'am."

She nodded. There was more she wanted to say, but anything too deep would sound like goodbye. Besides, he already knew. They both did. She walked to the Hummer and looked back, hoping this wasn't the last time she would see her boss.

Po Chü-i:

My thoughts are of you, old friend,  
ten thousand leagues away.

When Eric called Calleigh's cell phone only to have it go straight to voice mail, panic threatened to consume him.

She was in danger. Maybe dead, but if he let himself think about that, he wouldn't be able to function. He couldn't think straight about anything. If he could, he probably would have realized the chances Cooper knew where she was were so slim that confronting him was a waste of precious time. But there _was _a chance, and at the moment Eric would grasp at anything.

He pounded on the door. He could feel the seconds fly by, each one lowering Calleigh's chances. Unwilling to wait another instant, he kicked the door in. "Where is she?" he demanded.

Cooper retreated several steps, shrinking from the fury he didn't yet understand. "I don' know."

"What the hell are you doing, huh?" Eric advanced on him and knocked him to the floor. "What are you doing, Cooper?"

"I was just having a little bit of fun, man, alright," Cooper said, oblivious to the fact that he was in mortal danger. "Little Miss Perfect needed to be taken down a notch or two, so I videotaped her. So what?"

Holding him firmly by the collar, Eric's rage subsided to a simmering enmity. His desperate need for answers alone kept him from slamming Cooper's head against the floor. "Videotaped her? You've been harassing her on your website, and now she's missing."

"Calleigh's a big girl. She can take care of herself."

Eric's control slipped. "She can take care of herself! You posted her new number on the website!"

"That's not against the law," he said defiantly.

"Yeah, but what if some felon...what if some felon calls her out to a location? Huh? You think about that?"

Cooper's eyes widened as the true seriousness of the situation finally dawned on him. Sure he hated Calleigh, but could he live with himself if his website got her killed?

It soon became clear that living with himself would not be an issue. After glaring at him for a long moment, Eric dropped him contemptuously. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Something happens to her, Cooper, I'm going to come back here and kill you." He stormed out. There was no doubt in either of their minds that he meant it.

Li Shang-Yin, "Fallen Flowers":

From their high pillared halls the guests have flown.  
In the small garden the leaves are whirling,  
Thick-falling on the winding paths,  
In long parade making bright the sun.  
I cannot sweep these petals-my heart is broken-  
The fewer flowers remain the more I see them.  
Have their fragrant souls surrendered to the spring?  
Nothing remains. Tears fall on my garment.

With Horatio gone and Calleigh missing, Eric was the highest ranking CSI in the lab. He was not a natural leader, but he directed the search for Calleigh the best he could, having Frank organize patrols to look for the missing Hummer while Ryan attempted to compile names of people who viewed Cooper's website. With the news that Horatio was on his way back, Eric felt his burden ease slightly.

Their chances of finding Calleigh would be much better with Horatio leading the search.

Murasaki Shikibu:

I see her disappear behind the clouds  
And am left to grope my way through deepest darkness.

Calleigh's eyes opened in a dim room. She was on a cold floor, bound and gagged. But not blindfolded. Not a good sign.

Another very bad sign: the dead body on the floor in front of her.

Her training kicked in; she began noticing the room. It was mostly bare, part of some kind of industrial building. There was a table in the center with four chairs around it.

A door opened; two shadowed figures entered. One took a seat in a chair. "Pick 'er up," he ordered.

The other went to her, pulled her away from the wall, and yanked the gag out of her mouth.

Calleigh didn't want to say anything to them, but they'd kidnapped her and kept her alive for a reason. If she was going to stay alive, she had to know what that reason was. "What do you want from me?"

"We wanna 'solve a crime with Calleigh'," the man in the chair said scornfully. "See, our poker buddy, Robert, he uh..." he shook his head in mock regret, "he didn't give us what we wanted. So he had to pay the price. And then Tommy found your website."

The man she presumed was Tommy took over, speaking frantically. "Look, you're a CSI, right? Make it so this can't be traced back to us."

"You expect me to cover up a murder?" He yanked her arm violently. "Okay, okay," she said quickly. The important thing was to survive. Even if she erased every trace of the murder, if she survived her testimony could get these two put away anyway-if not for Robert's murder, then for her kidnapping. She just had to buy some time until the other CSIs found her. "Uh, let me think. You need gloves, and...we gotta bleach the floor, wipe up all the surfaces for fingerprints, shoe prints, for any...skin trace."

"What else?" the man in the chair asked.

"I need to get the bullet out of the...body. They can trace it back to your gun. But you're gonna have to untie me for that."

Tommy looked to the other man, who nodded. He cut the ropes from her wrists and pushed her forward, holding the knife at the ready. Calleigh examined the wound. It didn't look like it would have been fatal in itself. Already she was suspecting there might be more to this murder than even her captors knew. "You're lucky," she said. "This bullet's near the surface." She unsteadily rose to her feet.

"Stop," the man in the chair said, pointing a gun at her almost casually. "Where do ya think you're going?"

"I need to get something to get the bullet out with," she explained.

He gestured for her to go ahead, and Tommy released her arm.

Calleigh went to the table and picked up a plastic fork, taking quick note of the other things on the table: glass pitcher and cups with varying amounts of liquor left in the bottoms, a cigar, a pack of cigarettes, a corkscrew-none of which would make particularly effective weapons, but she may think of uses for them. Surviving this was going to take every ounce of resourcefulness she had.

Taking the fork back to the body, she dug the bullet out while the two men watched intently. She handed it toward Tommy. "Get rid of that."

"Good," the man in the chair said. He looked at Tommy. "You think you can get the next bullet out on your own?"

"Yeah," Tommy replied uncertainly.

He aimed the gun at Calleigh again. "Then what do we need her for?"

"I wouldn't do that," she informed him smoothly.

"Why's that?"

"That bullet smells like garlic," she was deliberately being cryptic, trying to intrigue them enough to spare her life in order to find out what she knew that they didn't.

"What the hell does that mean?" Tommy asked.

"It means I need you to get me some toilet cleaner, a lint roller, speaker wire, and a black light."

"Yeah, we'll get right on that," said the gunman. "You know, you should stop stalling."

"I'm just doing what you asked me to do."

Tommy interrupted them. "I think we should see what she can do."

"Okay. You can be our delivery boy. Give me a chance to get to know this bitch one on one," the man in the chair said lasciviously. "Go."

Tommy hurried out the door.

"I'd smoke that cigar," Calleigh suggested.

"Yeah, I was planning to, afterwards." He approached her. "But if that's what turns you on..."

"The smell of the cigar will mask the smell of decomp," she lied. "Unless, of course, you want your neighbors calling the cops down here."

"You're not as stupid as you look," he said.

She glared at him.

He told her to sit against the wall with her hands behind her, and if she moved from that spot he would shoot her. Then he lit the cigar, smoking it leisurely, watching her with undisguised lust.

From the moment she regained consciousness, Calleigh had known that her chances of surviving this weren't good. She was trying to stay positive, but decided to leave a message for the other CSIs just in case. She pressed her fingers against the wall behind her, and she thought about Eric. He was, she was sure, looking for her by now. He'd most likely be the one to find and process her prints. He would do everything he possibly could to find her. She just had to survive long enough to let him.

She would have given anything to see his beautiful face at that moment.

Anonymous, Kokinshu 523:

is it because my  
yearning heart has wandered to  
my love in daydreams  
that it does not know that my  
body is lost in darkness

The bullet recovered from Calleigh's Hummer led them to Paul Evett, who denied any connection to Calleigh's kidnapping, but told them the location of a poker game where he claimed he'd lost his gun.

Eric followed Horatio into the dim building.

"We have a body, Eric."

Eric felt like his heart stopped beating, and wouldn't start again if it was her.

"It's not Calleigh," Horatio added a second that felt like an eternity later.

They began processing the scene, figuring out quickly what had happened. Someone had grabbed Calleigh to force her to cover up a murder. Eric couldn't imagine what she was going through, but she was alive. She'd been there.

Dusting for prints revealed the number "60" on the wall.

"Sixty is police code for a two-man unit," Horatio commented. "She's leaving us a message, Eric."

Eric was once again amazed by her fortitude under the most dire conditions. It sometimes slipped his mind that, unlike him, she'd been a cop before she became a CSI. "She's telling us she was taken by two men, which means she was alive when she left this room."

"But for how long?" Horatio wondered.

That was something Eric didn't want to think about. He was no longer sure he could survive if she didn't.

From _Amarusatakata, _trans. Martha Ann Selby:

She's in the house.  
She's at turn after turn.  
She's behind me.  
She's in front of me.  
She's in my bed.  
She's on path after path.  
And I'm weak from want of her.

O heart,  
there is no reality for me  
other than she she  
she she she she  
in the whole of the reeling world.

And philosophers talk about Oneness.

The cigar stub Calleigh had inserted in the victim's bullet wound provided the DNA to identify her kidnapper as Seth McAdams, in CODIS for attempted rape. The flask she'd convinced Tommy to deliver led them back to Paul Evett, and he directed them to the victim's apartment.

But once again, they arrived too late to find Calleigh. They did find evidence proving the victim knew Mitch Davis, the owner of the warehouse where his body was found, but he couldn't provide any useful information.

By this point, Eric felt like he was going crazy, like his skin was crawling and his brain was prickling and his heartbeat was some dying animal feebly trying to escape his ribcage. If they didn't find her soon, if he couldn't see her, touch her, feel her breathing, he was going to break.

That's when he got a call from Horatio. "_Eric, do you remember Club Descent?"_

"Yeah."_  
_

_"Get there as soon as you can. That's where Seth McAdams is going."_

"With Calleigh?"_  
_

_"Let's hope."  
_

Tales of Ise 110:

It must have been my spirit  
Venturing out alone  
Because I miss you so.  
If you should see it later on,  
Pray cast a spell and catch it.

Sitting at the poker table at 6 p.m., Eric silently prayed for Calleigh's safe return. The evidence she left for them had reassured them she was still alive, but Seth could have killed her and dumped her on the way to the club. Until he could see her alive and well, he wouldn't be able to breathe freely.

They all jumped when they heard a pounding at the door. "Miami-Dade PD!"

It was Calleigh's voice, the most beautiful sound Eric could imagine.

Mitch Davis answered the door. "Sorry. Invitation only."

Seth put a gun on him. "Yeah, here's my invite."

Davis stepped aside. Seth entered, shoving Calleigh in front of him, toward the table.

When she saw the people at the table, Calleigh gave no indication of the relief and hope that flooded through her. Nothing in her face or movements betrayed that she recognized them. She put her hands up, as though to signal for Seth not to shoot her. It actually signaled her friends at the table that she was preparing herself to attack Seth: the gesture positioned her arms to knock aside her captor's gun.

"Alright ladies," Seth said, aiming the gun at the players. "Poker game's over; I want all your cash now. Come on."

Eric's gun was the first to come out of concealment and aim at Seth. Ryan's and Frank's followed half a second later. None of them were willing to take the shot with Calleigh in the line of fire, but Seth didn't need to know that.

The would-be robber looked confused for a moment, then realized it was a set-up and pointed the gun at Calleigh. "Drop the guns, or I will shoot her."

Calleigh didn't look too worried. Not that she would have shown it if she were.

"You're not going to get the chance," Horatio's deep, gravelly voice cautioned. His threat was punctuated by the click of his gun's safety coming off. "Now, if I were you, I'd fold. Don't you agree, Calleigh?"

Taking his signal, she spun around, knocking away Seth's gun and grabbing it. "Clear!" She stood and pointed it into Seth's face as Frank restrained him and Ryan and Eric came up behind her. "You messed with the wrong people," she informed him.

As two officers dragged Seth away. Eric reached out and touched Calleigh's shoulder, as much to comfort himself as her. "You okay?" he asked as Ryan took Seth's gun from her.

She nodded, but her hand went to her face as the strain of the kidnapping washed over her. She turned toward Eric's touch. Ryan put his hand on her other shoulder.

Eric guided her to a chair at the poker table and sat beside her, keeping one hand lightly on her arm. He couldn't take his eyes off her face, and listened as Frank took her statement. Only with painful reluctance did he let her out of his sight long enough for the paramedics to check her out. When he couldn't see her, reassure himself with her visual presence that she was safe, he felt physically ill.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked as they walked through the parking lot.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

It sounded like she really meant it. She was so strong, if anyone could be fine after an ordeal like that, it was her.

"What are you gonna do? Take some time off?"

"I really don't know, to be honest. I think I just want to go home," she said with a light laugh, "think about what happened." Having reached her car, she turned to him.

He nodded, and fixed his eyes on her face as though he were either trying to figure out if she was really alright, or afraid that if he looked away she would disappear.

The faint smile she gave him faltered slightly under his scrutiny. She was touched that he was showing so much concern for her, but at the same time the raw intensity of his emotions was disconcerting. She turned away, reaching for the door of the Hummer.

"Hey, you're not going home alone," Eric said, sounding surprised that she hadn't assumed as much.

"Eric, I'm fine. I really am. I promise. But thank you."

If she wasn't really fine, she was a great liar. But the thought of being separated from her again right now terrified him. "I'm not," he blurted.

She turned back to him. What was that supposed to mean? He wasn't the one who'd been kidnapped. Did she really mean so much to him? She stared at him, waiting for an explanation.

He kept his eyes fastened on her. "I don't know what I would've done if something would've happened to you today."

It sounded like more than friendly concern. If Eric cared for her as much as she cared for him, it must have been agony not knowing where she was, whether she was alive. She had, after all, had a taste of that worry ever since she lost contact with Jake. It would have been cruel of her to insist on going home alone.

"Okay," she said softly.

Happiness drowned out the worry in his face. He opened the door of the Hummer for her. She climbed in with her usual easy grace, then opened the driver door for him. As he started the car, they looked at each other and smiled, not sure what to say, but not needing to say anything.

Eric followed Calleigh's into her house. "Is there anyone you want to call? Your father? Jake?"

She thought about telling him Jake was out of her life, but she decided now wasn't the right time. He'd wonder why she hadn't told him earlier. "No, thank you. I've had enough of trying to convince people I'm really all right for one day."

He smiled. "Do you want something to eat? I could order a pizza."

"You know, a sausage and mushroom pizza sounds really great right now. I'm starving. Can you call it in? I want to jump in the shower."

"Of course."

He ordered the pizza, then sat on the couch and turned on the TV as he listened to the shower running. The pizza arrived, and Eric was pouring a couple of glasses of orange juice when Calleigh emerged from her bedroom wearing a t-shirt and shorts, her wet hair shimmering dark bronze.

"That smells so delicious," she said.

They ate on the couch as they watched a sitcom, the news, and a late-night talk show before Calleigh told him she was tired.

"You don't mind if I crash on your couch, do you?" Eric asked. "It's late, and I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep tonight if I can't be sure you're okay."

She smiled softly. "Thank you." She brought him an extra blanket and pillow, and then she went to bed.

Some time later, Eric was roused from a light sleep by a sound. He wasn't sure what it was, or even if he'd dreamed it, but he had to check on Calleigh.

He tiptoed to her room. She'd left her door open. When he peeked inside, he was shocked to see her sitting at the edge of her bed with a blanket wrapped around her. She was shaking.

"Cal, you okay?" he asked, taking a hesitant step inside her bedroom.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said, her voice a parody of her usual cheer. "I'm just a little cold."

It was as warm as usual for a Miami night.

"Are you sure?"

She stood and walked toward him, letting her quilt fall to the floor. "I appreciate that you're worried about me, but don't be. I'm fine. I'm just cold."

She didn't realize that what was cold were the memories - waking up in the warehouse, Seth McAdams' vile touch, the gun pointed at her. Until she reached Eric, until he reached for her with concern. Then she fell against him, pressed her face into his shoulder. His warm arms wrapped around her. He held her until she stopped shaking.

Emily Dickinson:

When Roses cease to bloom, Sir,  
And Violets are done-  
When Bumblebees in solemn flight  
Have passed beyond the Sun-  
The hand that paused to gather  
Upon this Summer's day  
Will idle lie - in Auburn-  
Then take my flowers - pray!


	59. Lagophthalmia

Sources: Everyman's Library _Love Poems, _ed. Peter Washington; _Love Poems by Women_, ed. Wendy Mulford.

Chronology: post "To Kill a Predator," season 6.

W.B. Yeats, "A Drinking Song":

Wine comes in at the mouth  
And love comes in at the eye;  
That's all we know for truth  
Before we grow old and die.  
I lift the glass to my mouth,  
I look at you, and I sigh.

They could say a killer was a killer all they wanted, but some cases blurred the distinction between murderer and victim. This had been one of those cases.

Ryan, Eric, Natalia, and Calleigh met at Diego's for a drink after work. They'd invited Horatio, but he said he had something to take care of.

"I'm just saying there were mitigating circumstances, mental distress. I mean, her husband had just been exposed as a monster on television, then he dies, then she finds out her own daughter killed him. That would make anyone crazy," Ryan said.

"And a good defense attorney is free to make those arguments, but our job is to figure out what really happened--where, when, how, and who. It's not up to us to ask why or to figure out how justified it was. That's for the courts to decide," Calleigh argued.

"Yeah, but don't you think we should get some say in it?"

"Absolutely not," she said. "As soon as we start to think about things like whether the victims deserve it or what made the killer do it, we lose our objectivity."

"I don't know, I think Wolfe might have a point," said Natalia. "Of course, while we're working the case we can't worry about what the punishment should be, but once all the evidence is in...I mean, we help put people away; that's a lot of responsibility to carry. Shouldn't we be able to at least make recommendations for leniency when we think it's deserved?"

"Exactly," Ryan said. "Or for extra harsh punishments when we think they deserve it."

Eric looked up from his beer. "That might be a bad idea. I can think of some people who wouldn't see another day if I had any say in it." He was thinking specifically of Seth McAdams. He'd vowed to himself that if McAdams ever got out on parole, he wouldn't get very far.

"Oh, so you're taking Calleigh's side. Big surprise there," Ryan remarked.

Eric chuckled. It was hard to tell in the bar's soft light, but he may also have blushed.

"Hey Delko, didn't you say the murdered pedophiles got what was coming to them? Isn't that kind of the same thing?"

"Not really," he said. "You know how high the recidivism rate is with pedophiles. Taking them out protects the public."

Calleigh shook her head. "Everyone's capable of doing terrible things, but that's no excuse to go around killing everyone."

"But Eric does have a point," Natalia chimed in. "In some cases, the line between vigilante justice and protecting the people you care about gets pretty blurry."

"Are you ganging up on me?" Calleigh asked, laughing and gesturing with a tiny swirl of her half-empty glass of shiraz to include all of them. "It's just funny to me that...we've all chosen a career in law enforcement, we solve crimes so the courts can put away the right people, and yet some of us seem to think it's okay sometimes for people to take the law into their own hands."

Eric averted his eyes. Calleigh didn't know that he'd threatened Dan Cooper's life after she went missing. If she did, she would be profoundly disappointed in him.

"Okay, you're right," Natalia said. "If people thought they could dispense their own justice, not only would a lot of wrongfully accused people suffer, but we'd all be out of a job."

"Unless we just went after the vigilantes," Ryan added.

The discussion continued.

Calleigh kept glancing in Eric's direction, admiring the contours of his face, the fullness of his lips, the definition of his muscles--and discreetly trying to catch his eye.

They hadn't really talked about what happened after her kidnapping. He'd made her promise to come to him if she needed anything, but he hadn't said anything more about how worried he'd been about her. She was beginning to wonder if she'd read too much into his statement that he didn't know what he would have done if anything happened to her. Maybe he just meant he didn't know if he could keep working at CSI if he lost another coworker the way they'd lost Speedle. If he thought of her as more than a friend, he would have said something. He would have.

Or he'd at least _look _at her.

Edna St. Vincent Millay, "Theme and Variation, 2":

Heart, do not bruise the breast  
That sheltered you so long;  
Beat quietly, strange guest.

Or have I done you wrong  
To feed you life so fast?  
Why, no; digest this food  
And thrive. You could outlast  
Discomfort if you would.

You do not know for whom  
These tears drip through my hands.  
You thud in the bright room  
Darkly. This pain demands  
No action on your part,  
Who never saw that face.

These eyes, that let him in,  
(Not you, my guiltless heart)  
These eyes, let them erase  
His image, blot him out  
With weeping, and go blind.

Heart, do not stain my skin  
With bruises; go about  
Your simple function. Mind,  
Sleep now; do not intrude;  
And do not spy; be kind.

Sweet blindness, now begin.


	60. The Storm

Sources: _Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair, _Pablo Neruda, trans. W.S. Merwin;_ Tales of Ise_; _Haiku Humor: Wit and Folly in Japanese Poems and Prints, _trans. Stephen Addiss, Fumiko Y. Yamamoto, and Akira Y. Yamamoto; _No Bliss Like This: Five Centuries of Love Poems by Women, _compiler Jill Hollis.

Chronology: "Down to the Wire"

Pablo Neruda, from "Almost Out Of The Sky":

Longing that sliced my breast into pieces,  
it is time to take another road, on which she does not smile.  
Storm that buried the bells, muddy swirl of torments,  
why touch her now, why make her sad.

It was not a typical murder. The cause of death was known: multiple gun shot wounds. And the people who shot those bullets were known: SWAT. But whoever was behind the phone call that brought them there was the real killer, and that was what the CSIs had to figure out.

And they had. But now she was dead, and the man who killed her might get away with it, just because that slimy private detective and defense attorney Kurt Rossi was getting the evidence thrown out by attacking the person who gathered it.

Eric found her sitting in the locker room, looking dejected. Glancing back to make sure there was no one around to overhear, he entered the room.

She raised her head when she saw him, ran her fingers through her hair. The normally cheerful, unflappable woman seemed weary, beaten.

"Calleigh, I just heard. Why didn't you tell Stetler the truth that the notes were mine?" he demanded. It wasn't fair to her. Calleigh was the best CSI he knew, and he didn't understand why she was taking the fall for him.

She took a deep breath. "Okay, about the sheet, here's the thing...You know, after you were shot you came back to work pretty fast, and maybe it was too fast. And I guess I was just so happy that you were okay that I didn't say anything, and I probably should've."

"Say anything about what?" he asked.

"Well _are _you okay?" Her eyes locked on his as she gave voice to what had been worrying her ever since she found that checklist. "We never talk about it. _You _never talk about it." Her eyes, wide and cloudy green in the indirect light of the locker room, pleaded with him to confide in her.

Finally, Eric gave in. "It's a process," he said. "And the medication helps, and the therapy helps, and I make a few little notes here and there, and that helps."

"Well I have to say something..." Calleigh hesitated for a long second, looking down as she tried to formulate the best way to say what she felt she had to say, even though she feared it would shake Eric's confidence, and possibly even endanger their friendship. She looked back at him. "Because I feel for you, and you know that."

Those words sank to Eric's heart. What exactly did she mean by that? She felt _what_ for him? He wanted to ask her, but he couldn't. Not now.

She continued. "But if one memory lapse allows a killer to go free..."

"I would have turned in my badge a long time ago. You know that," he countered angrily. The person who had been his firmest support and most forceful ally was questioning his competence. If it hadn't been for what she'd said a moment before, this might have felt like a betrayal. "I'm retraining my brain, Calleigh, but I know how to do my job."

"What about the cheat sheet?"

"Why does everyone keep calling it that?" he questioned.

She hadn't meant to hurt him. That was the last thing she wanted. But she had. She looked away and began fidgeting with her duffel bag, wishing they could just forget she said anything.

"Work isn't a test that you take; it's something you do right every time," Eric continued. "So what if I take a few notes? Would it make you feel any better to know that I never consulted them, not once?" When Calleigh looked up at him apologetically, Eric regretted immediately becoming so defensive, especially since she was trying to protect him. "Look, you know, I'm going to go to Stetler myself; I'm going to tell him everything."

"Don't," she implored. "Here's the thing: I'm off the case, but you're not. Find another way to get the guy-I know you can do that. Do that, instead," she said. "For us."

Why had she said that? 'For us'? Did she mean he should do it for the lab? It didn't feel like it; it felt like she meant for the two of them, him and her. But why would she say that? Did she know the power she had over him? That when she said that, and looked at him like that, there was no way he could refuse her?

He didn't know. What he did know was that he had two choices: leave as quickly as possible, or kiss her. Now was not the place or time for the latter option, but she was risking her career to protect him, saying things that made him wonder if she loved him, and looking more beautiful than ever, and he knew he wouldn't be able to resist if he spent another moment with her.

So he nodded, and left.

Ariwara no Narihira, Tales of Ise 55:

It is true, I suppose,  
That you care nothing for me-  
And yet I feel hope  
Whenever I hear  
your least word.

The gunshot mist on the jacket proved Kurt Rossi's client murdered his secretary. Eric and Ryan confronted them with the evidence.

"Sometimes it's not about the evidence," Rossi said. "It's about who collected it."

"You're right," Eric agreed. "It wasn't CSI Duquesne this time; it was me."

Rossi held up a small electronic device. "Exactly." He put it on the table. "Here." He pressed play.

"_Eric, how have you been coping, at work?"_ they heard Dr. Nicolosi ask.

The next voice was Eric's. _"Every day is different. I thought I'd be back in my daily rituals by now. Thought I'd be a hundred percent. It's taking a long time."_

_"It's only been a month since the shooting," _the therapist pointed out. _"And that frustrates you?"_

_"Of course. Yeah, I have to be really methodical about everything. Dumb stuff, writing checks; I can't...I can't remember what year it is sometimes."_

Ryan cast Eric a concerned glance._  
_

_"And do you feel like your coworkers are distancing themselves?" _Dr. Nicolosi continued._  
_

_"No, not at all. In fact, there's this one woman that I work with. Her name's Cal-"_

And that's when Eric broke down and turned it off it off. He knew what the next thing on the tape would be: a thinly veiled admission of his feelings for Calleigh. Even though he'd never acted on them, they could be separated if that tape got out. He didn't think he could stand it if that happened.

Rossi had him beat, and he knew it.

Keisanjin:

One umbrella-  
the person more in love  
gets wet.

Horatio's plan to catch Rossi incriminating himself on tape succeeded. The case was closed. All that was left was to confiscate Rossi's illegal archive of secrets.

"So this is Rossi's private vault," Eric mused as he and Calleigh entered the spacious room.

Horatio had insisted on sending the two of them on this assignment, in spite of the fact that they'd both been officially or unofficially taken off the case. They wondered if he was demonstrating his faith in them, or because the two of them were the only people he trusted to recover those dangerous and valuable files.

"I can't even imagine what must be on all these," Calleigh said.

Eric could. He was sure that, somewhere in Rossi's recordings of his therapy sessions, there was more than enough to destroy his career, including how much he cared for Calleigh. He turned toward her. "Before, about Stetler..."

She shook her head. "It's our secret," she said. "We'll keep it between you and me, okay?"

What she knew about the continued cognitive and psychological effects of his shooting could end his career just as easily as anything on those tapes, and her words and smile assured him that it was safe with her. He smiled. "Thanks."

"Let's hurry up. This place gives me the creeps," she said, brushing aside the closeness that had developed between them to get back to the case.

Mary Elizabeth Coleridge, "A Moment":

The clouds had made a crimson crown  
Above the mountains high.  
The stormy sun was going down  
In a stormy sky.

Why did you let your eyes so rest on me,  
And hold your breath between?  
In all the ages this can never be  
As if it had not been.


	61. Hesitation

Sources: _Kokinshu; Tales of Ise; Tale of Genji.  
_

Chronology: Late Season 6, between "Down to the Wire" and "Going Ballistic."

Anonymous, Kokinshu 720:

should the endlessly  
flowing Asuka River  
hesitate grow still  
onlookers would think it had  
a love concealed in its heart

Eric checked the address one more time, then approached the house in the twilight gloom. His nervousness abated slightly when he saw the plaque inscribed with "Dr. Rachel Marsh" on the door beneath the welcoming porch light.

He rang the bell, and in seconds the door was opened by an amiable-looking middle-aged blond woman. "Mr. Delko?"

"Eric," he said. "Dr. Marsh?"

"Rachel. Come in."

She led him to a cozy room with two comfortable sofas. Assorted knickknacks decorated every available surface.

"So, Eric, where would you like to begin?" Dr. Marsh inquired.

"I don't know. Where do you think we should start?"

"Well," she glanced at the open notes in her lap, "I see you're a crime scene investigator, and you were seeing your department therapist, but you recently requested an outside psychiatrist. Would you like to start there?"

"Yeah, okay. I've been going to that therapist for a few years, but on a recent case I learned that her office had been illegally bugged, and some of my statements to her ended up in the wrong hands. I just thought someone outside would be...more confidential."

"And your privacy is very important to you?"

"In my work, you gotta be really careful about everything you do and say, because anything can be used against you, either by attorneys in court or by suspects. I learned that the hard way more than once."

"And yet you feel its worth the risk to confide in a therapist?"

"I've figured out that...it's something I need to do. Some people can deal with this job without help, but I can't. Don't get me wrong, I love my job, but we see the worst people are capable of every day, and we risk our lives every day. It gets to you."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He nodded after a moment. "A couple of years after I went to work at the crime lab, one of my colleagues-my friend-was killed in the line of duty. At first I tried to act like it didn't affect me, but then something happened that made me realize the things I was doing outside work were threatening my job, so I finally talked to someone. That's when I started seeing the office shrink."

"You're speaking in very vague terms about that time," she noted.

"Yeah, I guess so. It's just that...I'm still nervous after finding out my sessions were being bugged. The suspect's lawyer threatened to make the tapes public if I didn't take myself off the case."

"How did that make you feel?"

"Angry. Vulnerable. Like I was disappointing my colleagues."

She glanced up at him. "Why is that? Did you feel like they were counting on you to solve the case?"

"Not really. It's just...they'd already gotten one of my coworkers thrown off the investigation. I wanted to solve it for her."

"You felt like you owed her?" Dr. Marsh asked.

"I do owe her. She got in trouble because she was trying to protect me. Ever since I came back to work after being shot, she's been there for me."

Dr. Marsh glanced at the file she'd gotten from Eric's previous therapist. "Is that your friend Calleigh?"

"Yeah."

"If you don't mind talking about it, what was on the tapes of your therapy sessions that you were so afraid of getting out?"

Eric shook his head. "No. Not yet."

"Okay. Let's go back to your shooting. How has it affected your work?"

After discussing his work, they talked about Eric's hobbies, his family, his sister, and his sister's death.

"Do you see Calleigh as a surrogate for your sister?" Dr. Marsh inquired.

Eric couldn't help but laugh. "No, not at all."

"Have you found anyone else to fill that role in your life? Someone you can trust completely and confide in?"

"Well, after losing Marisol, and everything else we've been through together, I consider my boss to be my best friend. I can tell him anything. But no; no one could replace Marisol."

"Have you been having trouble coping with her death?"

"I think I've been handling it better than Speedle's death. When he died... Before he died, I'd had a lot of girlfriends, but after that it became a different woman every night. Talking it out with Dr. Nicolosi helped me figure out that it was a self-destructive coping technique. Sex stimulates the reward centers of the brain just like drugs or alcohol, and I was abusing it just like any other drug. I've been careful not to do anything like that this time."

"So what do you do?"

"Sometimes when I really miss her I visit her grave, and talk to her. I talk to my family about her. When I'm working I usually don't think about it."

"Is that why you went back to work so soon after getting shot? Because it kept you from having to deal with what happened?"

"I don't know. I don't think so."

"Eric, I think it's possible that this time, instead of sex, you're using your work to drown out your pain."

He shook his head. "It's not the same. Work doesn't keep me from dealing with grief, and it doesn't get in the way of the rest of my life."

"Really? It sounds to me like your work is the biggest factor in your life, and that everything else has been sidelined."

"Like what?"

"Well, when's the last time you've had a girlfriend? Or even been on a date?"

He didn't answer. It had been a long time, but if he told her the reason, she might think that he only fell in love with someone he worked with because he spent all of his time at work. The inverse was closer to the truth.

The clock struck the hour. Dr. Marsh glanced at it. "Well, I think we've made a good start today. Think about what I said. I'll see you same time next week."

Ariwara no Narihira, Tales of Ise 124:

It will be best  
To keep silent  
And not say what I think,  
For there is no other  
Who shares my feelings.

The restaurant was fairly quiet that evening. The low light and color scheme of warm creams and dark browns made the place cozy and relaxing. That was why it was one of Alexx's favorite places to eat out. The other reason was, of course, the food.

"What's good here?" Calleigh asked once the two women were seated at a table near a window.

"Everything," Alexx answered.

They looked over their menus. "So how are you enjoying your new free time?" Calleigh inquired.

"It's taking some getting used to. I hope the lab hasn't fallen apart without me."

Calleigh chuckled. "We're managing." A moment later, she added, "We all miss you."

A waitress arrived at their table. They ordered and relinquished their menus.

"How is Horatio?" Alexx asked. "And Eric, and Ryan, and Natalia, and everyone else?"

"Everyone's as well as can be expected without you watching out for us."

"I've heard you had a little trouble with the IAB recently," she noted.

"It's nothing. I just have to retake my proficiencies. How are your kids doing?"

"They're staying out of trouble. I'm making sure of it," Alexx replied. "And don't try changing the subject. What happened?"

So Calleigh gave her a brief account of her latest case. They chatted some more. Their food arrived.

They came to a lull in the conversation, and both enjoyed their meals in silence for a minute.

"Why do I get the feeling there's something on your mind?" Alexx asked suddenly.

Calleigh smiled dismissively. "It's nothing."

Alexx gave her a mock-stern look. "Now, don't give me that. If you want to get something off your chest, I'm here to listen."

"Well..." she sighed. "If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell anyone?"

"This sounds juicy."

Calleigh gave her a warning look.

"Of course I won't," Alexx promised. "Anything you say is safe with me."

Calleigh poked at her fettuccine alfredo. "It's about Eric..."

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah. I think so. The thing is...you know how he...he's always kind of had a way with the ladies..."

"You're so generous, Calleigh," Alexx laughed. "You know I love Eric, but let's call a spade a spade: that man is a player."

"He was," she agreed. "But I don't think he's...dated anyone since his shooting."

Alexx raised an eyebrow. "That was over a year ago. You think its an effect of his injury?"

"No, I think...I think maybe he has his eyes on a specific girl."

"Who?" she asked with interest.

"Me." Once she said it, Calleigh glanced away and chuckled self-consciously. "Okay, it sounds a little big-headed when I say it out loud. It's probably just my imagination."

Alexx was smiling. "I don't know. I always did think you two looked good together. What makes you think he likes you?"

"Well, nothing specific really, just little things." She frowned for a second, and covered it up with a sip of her wine. Until she had to defend her theory, she'd been so sure. But now the doubts crept in again. "It's the way he looks at me sometimes. And he's always looking out for me." It was such feeble evidence that saying it out loud was unconvincing her. He would always look out for her because she was his friend. And the way he looked at her could have just been because she was beautiful.

But Alexx didn't doubt Calleigh's instincts for a second. "So how do you feel about him?"

"Well...he is amazing. And really, really..." she smiled, "hot. His muscles, and those gorgeous eyes..."

"Oh, I've noticed."

"I've always thought he was attractive, ever since I first saw him, looking like something in a glossy magazine."

"Looking like he stepped right off the cover of a romance novel," said Alexx, making Calleigh laugh. "So you're interested?"

"I don't know." She sighed and shook her head. "I mean, we work together. Office romances can go so wrong. No one knows that better than me."

Alexx nodded subtly. "But Eric's not Jake, or Agent Elliott, or..." She hesitated to bring up Detective Hagen.

"I know, but it's against the rules. I'm the one who's supposed to follow all the rules, to be perfect."

"Honey," Alexx said in her motherly advice tone, "don't mistake what you expect from yourself with what other people expect from you. You might be the best at what you do, but you're only human, and if you and Eric care about each other there's no one who could blame you for giving it a chance. Those rules are just there so the department can wash its hands if anything goes wrong, anyway."

Calleigh half-smiled. "Maybe you're right. But then again, maybe I'm just reading more into Eric's feelings than are really there because I want them to be there."

"Have you asked him?"

"No. What if I'm wrong? He could report me, or request a transfer."

"He would never do that, and you know it. Whether he's in love with you or not, that man admires the heck out of you. At _worst_, he'd be flattered."

After a long moment, Calleigh nodded. "I should talk to him. I just...want to be sure of my own feelings about this before I do." She didn't add how much the thought terrified her. If she was wrong, she could lose Eric's respect, and that was something she wouldn't be able to bear.

By the time she saw Eric again, she had already convinced herself she was wrong, and decided not to say anything.

Ise,_ Gosenshu_ 938:

I cannot say yes, I cannot say no; how sad  
That my self cannot go where my heart would lead it.


	62. Smoldering

Sources: _ 1000 Poems from the Many__ōshū, _Nippon Gakujutsu Shinkokai translation_; __Tales of Ise_.

Chronology: "Meltdown."

Otomo no Sakanoe, _Manyoshu_ 620:

If from the beginning  
You had not made me trust you,  
Speaking of long, long years,  
Should I have known now  
Such sorrow as this?

An awkward silence pervaded the first few minutes as Calleigh drove Jake to the hospital.

"You know I had to shoot him. It was him or me," Jake said, just trying to get a conversation started.

"It always is, with you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Calleigh smirked and didn't take her eyes off the road. "It means, what are you even doing back in Miami? Considering what happened last time, it's practically suicidal."

"I've got a lot of contacts here."

"And a lot of enemies," she pointed out. "Admit it, Jake, you can't stand being safe. You get bored."

He nodded resentfully for a moment, biting his lip. "The truth is, Calleigh, I was kind of hoping that, if I came back, you and me have another shot."

"That won't happen. I told you that before. You and I had a great thing, but it's over now. Don't ruin it by trying to drag it back, it won't work."

"Hey, I'm back now, aren't I? I put my life on the line to help you with your case. Again. Doesn't that count for something?"

Calleigh sighed. "Jake, look...the thing is, I'm in love with someone else."

He turned toward her and stared at her for a moment. "Who is he?"

"Does it matter?"

"Someone I know?"

She didn't answer.

"It's gotta be another cop. You only date cops."

"No I don't," she argued.

"Is it Delko?"

The startled glance she shot him confirmed his guess.

"I thought he had a thing for you," Jake explained.

"It's more than just 'a thing'. We're together."

"We were engaged, Calleigh. We were gonna get married."

"I know. That was a mistake. And I think you knew that, or you wouldn't have left."

"I _had_ to go back undercover. They needed me."

"Jake, don't do this..."

"So if I hadn't left, are you saying we wouldn't still be together?"

"I don't know. I honestly don't know. But what's done is done. Eric's always been there for me when I needed him. You haven't."

"That's not a good enough reason to love him, Calleigh. What does he got that I don't got?"

She rolled her eyes. "You really don't want me to start reciting that list, trust me." Her words were harsher than she meant them to be.

"Because you can't think of anything."

Calleigh bit her lip rather than blurt out something she would regret. She still cared about Jake, and she didn't want to hurt him, but compared to Eric's depth and sincerity, Jake's charms just seemed superficial and immature. Being given the choice made her more sure than ever that she belonged with Eric.

"That's not it," she answered. "It's just that you're not the one I should be telling it to."

Defeated, Jake turned toward the window and remained silent until they reached the hospital.

_Tales of Ise_ 112:

Captured by the gale,  
The smoke from the salt-fires  
Of the fisherfolk at Suma  
Has drifted off  
In an unforeseen direction.


	63. Trust

Sources: _Tales of Ise_; _Kokinshu; 1000 Poems from the Manyoshu._

Chronology: Takes up where "Time Bomb" left us.

Tales of Ise 23:

Waiting in vain  
Night after night  
For the visits you promise,  
I no longer trust you,  
Yet my love lives on.

She was there. That was as much as he could possibly hope for at the moment.

They watched the waves crash against the beach, and Eric wondered how he could possibly have been so stupid, to let it go so far.

It wasn't that he was purposefully trying to sabotage his relationship with Calleigh, more like he still wasn't used to being in a serious relationship. Half-truths, omissions, lies, and flattery had been the tools he'd used to deal with all of the women he'd dated up until her; they'd worked for him, and as much as he repeatedly told himself that this one was different, and swore to himself that he would never do anything to hurt Calleigh, he kept falling back on what he knew.

Ever since she'd confronted him before the bomb, he'd been terrified that she'd say they were over. He couldn't lose her. He couldn't bear it. He was tempted to fall on his knees and beg for her forgiveness, but he knew full well Calleigh wasn't the kind of person who would be swayed by gestures like that; he'd just end up losing her respect. Like she said, he had to earn back her trust. He just wasn't sure how to do that.

After a few minutes passed in silence, she glanced at him. He looked thoughtful, tired, and sad. "I'm sorry about Rebecca."

Eric's eyes closed at the thought of his boss and her death. "Thank you."

She resisted the impulse to touch him. He'd hurt her a lot, not that he was investigating the lab, but that he'd lied to her about it. Not even so much that he'd lied to her, but that he'd lied to her so easily, so smoothly. It was like when he'd told her he wasn't in contact with his father. It scared her to think about what else he was lying to her about.

Anonymous, Kokinshu 712:

if this world of ours  
were a world without falsehood  
how greatly I would  
rejoice to hear burgeoning  
words of new love unfolding

"Calleigh," he said suddenly and quietly after another long minute. "I know nothing I can say can fix what happened, but you have to know that...there was no good option. The evidence was pointing to someone in the lab being dirty. We had to figure out who. For what it's worth I was trying to protect you, to keep you out of it."

"So let me get this straight: you wanted to keep me out of your spying on the lab, but not enough to stop sleeping with me?"

He flinched. Every harsh word and cold look she'd tossed his way that day had torn through his heart like a dagger. "It wasn't like that."

"Then what was it like?" Her question was quiet, almost sweet, and delivered with hazy smile. She was trying hard not to hurt him. That was a good sign.

"I wanted to tell you, but I couldn't think of a way. I was scared," he said. "I've been on the wrong end of internal investigations; I know how they can mess up your life even if you're cleared in the end. I didn't want that to happen. I thought maybe I could investigate quietly, find the thief without anyone else getting dragged in." He looked off over the ocean. "You know, when Nevins was trying to talk me into taking the assignment, I told her I might not be the best choice, since I'm dating one of the suspects. She literally laughed. She pointed out it couldn't possibly've been you, since you were out of the lab when the diamonds went missing, but that was really just an afterthought. Stetler, when he was talking about possible suspects, never even mentioned you. Even if everyone weren't completely convinced of your absolute integrity, they'd know if you did steal the diamonds, you'd be too smart to get caught."

"Thanks, I think?"

He breathed a laugh.

She kept looking at him. Her smile drained away. "Eric, you trust me, right?"

"Of course I do. I trust you with my life." And heart, and soul, but he couldn't think of a way to say that.

"Then stop lying to me. Even if you think you're doing it to protect me."

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. He always was. Sometimes--times like this--she wondered why she put up with it.

But, of course, she knew.

Lady Kasa, Manyoshu 600:

Oh how steadily I love you--  
You who awe me  
Like the thunderous waves  
That lash the sea-coast of Ise!


	64. Marcescence

Sources: _Kokinshu; 1000 Poems from the Manyoshu; Immortal Poems of the English Language, _edited by Oscar Williams; _A Study of Poetry, _Don M. Wolfe; _ Love Poems, _ed. Peter Washington._  
_

Chronology: "Going Ballistic" and "Resurrection." _  
_

Oshikochi no Mitsune, Kokinshu 584:

alone I sorrow  
there is no one to comfort  
me to speak softly  
as the gentle whisper of  
the rice plants in autumn fields

Calleigh sat amid the rubble of her lab, feeling dejected. She always worked so hard to keep up the appearance of cheerfulness and confidence, to look on the bright side of every situation as much as a person in her profession possibly could, but this was just too much.

She'd been through so much lately: being forced to retake her proficiencies, the IAB investigation calling her competence into question after her off-duty shooting, being unexpectedly abandoned by her fiance...and now her oversight destroying her lab and compromised crucial evidence. This was the straw that broke the camel's back.

She felt broken.

The sound of footsteps alerted her that she wasn't alone. She looked up to see Eric making his way towards her. He paused for a moment to take in the damage.

"Thank God you're okay," he breathed.

"It was crazy," she said. "The bullet just rolled off the table, and the lab catches on fire."

Eric crouched down to her level. "Normally bullets don't discharge when they hit the ground," he said, wondering what had caused it to go off.

"I know. It's because they were old. I shoulda known something because of the oxidation."

"Don't beat yourself up over it." He took her hand in his. His thumb tenderly stroked her gloved knuckles.

Calleigh exhaled sharply and dropped her eyes. In spite of her dismal mood, Eric's touch was sending warmth through her. Her fingers reflexively curled around his. "Because of me the entire case is probably compromised."

He sighed, trying to think of some way to make her feel better, to help her. "There were three unspent bullets at the scene, right?"

"Yeah."

"How many of them were compromised?"

She thought for a second. The sequence of events from the bullet discharging and hitting the light was burned into her memory. How many gunshots had she heard? "I think two. There's probably another one in the rubble," she replied, already feeling her misery ebbing away.

"Alright; let's find it." Eric let go of her hand and stood up, donned a pair of latex gloves, and began searching.

As Calleigh carefully lifted chunks of plaster, Eric pointed his flashlight in every crevice and shadow he could see, systematically searching the room.

"Hey."

Calleigh glanced up expectantly at Eric's exclamation.

He picked something off the floor with tweezers and examined it closely. "Here it is." He looked toward her. "I found it."

"You are my hero," she said, finally smiling.

He didn't know, of course, how much she'd really meant. He didn't know that, since her final conversation with John Hagen, "hero" was not a word she used lightly.

Even without knowing that, though, her smile and her praise made him giddy with happiness that would stay with him for hours.

Oshikochi no Mitsune, Kokinshu 481:

since first I heard her  
voice refreshing as the first faint  
call of wild geese in  
autumn I have wandered on  
the heavens' enchanted paths

The bullet led to the arrest of Brad Gower for the deaths of Manny Ortega and the new M.E., but before the CSIs had time to celebrate closing the case, Gower succumbed to a drive-by shooting while in custody.

When Calleigh realized the bullet that killed Gower was a fused-alloy round, a cold fear gripped her along with the realization that Miami had just become a much more dangerous place. And then the name of Ron Saris showed up on the list of buyers.

It didn't surprise Calleigh that Horatio became elusive soon after, and even Ryan's vagueness when he excused himself from the interrogation of Gower's business partner didn't set off any warning bells.

And then there was a call-out to the airstrip. Officer down.

That's when the fear really set in. She knew that's where Horatio had gone.

Walt Whitman, from "O Captain! My Captain!":

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;  
Rise up - for you the flag is flung - for you the bugle trills,  
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths - for you the shores a-crowding,  
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;  
Here Captain! dear father!  
The arm beneath your head!  
It is some dream that on the deck,  
You've fallen cold and dead.

Calleigh and Eric rushed to the scene, finding Wolfe already there. They jumped out of their Hummer the instant it came to a stop.

"Ryan, what happened?" she demanded.

He shook his head. "It's bad. It's not good."

"What do you mean 'it's bad,' Wolfe? Talk to us," Eric said.

"Horatio took a round to the chest, and I got here too late." He paused for a long moment, then said so quietly they could barely hear him, "He's gone."

"What!" Calleigh exclaimed. As much as she'd known Horatio's death was a possibility, she wanted to believe she'd misunderstood him.

"He's dead," Ryan clarified.

Prince Niu, Manyoshu 68:

It is nothing but a trick  
And a mere mockery,  
That he, my prince, is laid  
Among the rocks of that lofty hill!

After a full second of shocked disbelief, those words hit Calleigh like a bullet to the chest. She buried her face in her hands and turned away. "Oh my God."

Eric stood motionless, lost, uncomprehending. He didn't know what to do. He felt completely helpless.

Edna St. Vincent Millay, "Lament":

Listen, children:  
Your father is dead.  
From his old coats  
I'll make you little jackets;  
I'll make you little trousers  
From his old pants.  
There'll be in his pockets  
Things he used to put there,  
Keys and pennies  
Covered with tobacco;  
Dan shall have the pennies  
To save in his bank;  
Anne shall have the keys  
To make a pretty noise with.  
Life must go on,  
And the dead be forgotten;  
Life must go on,  
Though good men die;  
Anne, eat your breakfast;  
Dan, take your medicine;  
Life must go on;  
I forget just why.

"Horatio's dead," Ryan repeated. "Listen to me: Horatio's gone; he's dead."

Finally Eric spoke. "Where is he? I need to see him."

"I released the body."

Calleigh spun around. "What?" she and Eric both cried.

"What the hell did you do that for?" Eric yelled. "The first responder waits for the team to get here! _His _team!"

"I'm sorry! I didn't want him lying here in his own blood on the evening news! So I released the body!" Ryan shouted back.

Eric stared at him.

Calleigh was beginning to recover her composure, and starting to think about practical considerations in light of the tragedy. "How did you get here so fast?" she asked Ryan suspiciously.

"I was running an errand nearby."

"You left that interrogation for an errand?"

"It was a stupid errand. I dropped everything as soon as I heard on the radio."

"This doesn't make sense," Eric remarked.

"Let's focus," Calleigh said. "Horatio had enemies; we know that."

"It must've been someone close," added Eric.

"We find out who did this," Calleigh vowed, her grief hardening into resolve. "We find out!"

Anonymous, Kokinshu 412:

hauntingly they cry  
the northbound geese of the night -  
one from their number  
who flew this way in autumn  
accompanies them not home

Calleigh put away her emotions to investigate as dispassionately as she could. She could tell Eric was having a harder time dealing, especially after he almost attacked a suspect, but with Horatio gone he was the only one she completely trusted.

Especially after they found the text message on Agent Caldwell's phone and called the number it was sent to only to hear Ryan's cell ring.

Ryan had something to do with Horatio's death. She had never felt so betrayed in her life. Which was saying a lot.

But then Ryan confided to them that Horatio was alive.

"I don't believe a word you're saying."

Ryan had often felt like a bit of an outsider at the lab. He'd seen the respect and camaraderie between Calleigh and Eric and Horatio and Alexx and Tripp, and wished he could be a part of that. After his first few months, he began to feel like he was, most of the time. And Horatio had chosen _him _to help fake his death, keeping it from all the others; that said something. But now he saw with harsh clarity that he was far from being part of their group. Calleigh and Eric trusted each other implicitly; that trust did not extend to him. It was the two of them against him.

Later, when things got back to normal, he would look back on this moment and see something else, something that was always there but didn't become apparent until Horatio's influence was removed from the dynamics of the team: within the group, Eric and Calleigh made up their own unofficial sub-unit. They were partners, the two of them, and would have each other's backs against all outside forces, with the possible exception of Horatio himself.

Anonymous, Manyoshu 181:

On the desolate stony shore  
Of the garden-lake, where once he walked,  
There grow - alas ! weeds,  
That grew not there before.

Calleigh had put off thinking about Horatio's loss until she solved his murder, so it wasn't difficult to accept that he was still alive. But the case was still a difficult one, not just because the life of her boss and friend depended on carrying on as if he were dead, but because the investigation turned up another ghost.

Jake Berkeley.

When she brought Jake in for questioning, all she said was, "It's been a while."

She didn't ask why he'd left, or how he felt about her, or even if he wanted the ring back. They had a case to solve. And besides, Calleigh had never been one to lay her feelings out for all to see, or air her grievances.

She asked him to help them from inside the Crypt Kings. She never would have guessed how far he would take it.

Anonymous, Kokinshu 886:

in the meadows of  
Furu in Isonokami  
withered oak leaves still  
cling to the trees so my first  
love remains unforgotten

"Hey."

Calleigh looked up from her work at Jake's voice. "Hey," she echoed his greeting. "What are you doing here?"

"I brought you something." He held up a black duffel bag. "Three .45s, two Mack 10, full auto." He dropped in in front of her. "Took it from the Crypt Kings' safe house. All these guns were used in your ambush today."

"That's amazing. I'll compare it to the fused-alloy round we got, see if I get a match."

"You get a match, It'll give you the whole crew," Jake said.

"How did you get out without getting noticed?"

He glanced away. "I didn't," he admitted. "And they're looking for me right now, and if they find me, I'm dead."

She stared at him. "That's an incredible sacrifice to make for the case."

"I didn't do it for the case, Calleigh," he said, smiling at her apparent obliviousness. "I did it for you."

She wasn't sure whether to feel flattered or frightened that he would endanger his life and sacrifice his cover for her. What could she say to that? Though inadequate, "Thank you," was all she could come up with. A long moment passed. "So what happens now?"

"Well, ATF will send me somewhere, put me on ice a while. Six months, a year."

"But there's no guarantee."

"No. There's never a guarantee." Jake's mouth hung open for a moment as he summoned the courage to bring up something else. "I was kinda hoping that you would wait."

She wished she could have more time to think about what he was asking. They'd never officially broken off their engagement, and now he wanted to know if she still wanted to go through with it. He'd left her for an undercover assignment, and then left that assignment for her. Maybe she should have felt honored, should have accepted his proposal.

She had wondered, over the past months, if she would take him back if he returned. She was still uncertain, but it was time to decide.

"I feel like for the last couple of months all I've been doing is waiting," she said. "It's terrifying. I mean, I...wonder every day if I will see you again, if something happens to you if I would know about it." She looked at him regretfully. It hurt to speak these words. "I can't live like that."

It wasn't the real reason, at least not all of it. But she couldn't admit or even articulate the rest.

The sadness and disappointment that crossed his face sharpened her regret. But then he forced a smile, moved to her, and gently cupped her face as he gazed at her. He slowly stooped down and placed a kiss at the corner of her lips. She closed her eyes, savoring his touch and what she was sure would be the last kiss they ever shared.

John Donne, "The Expiration":

So, so, break off this last lamenting kiss,  
Which sucks two souls, and vapours Both away,  
Turn thou ghost that way, and let me turn this,  
And let our selves benight our happiest day,  
We ask'd none leave to love; nor will we owe  
Any, so cheap a death, as saying, Go;

Go; and if that word have not quite kill'd thee,  
Ease me with death, by bidding me go too.  
Oh, if it have, let my word work on me,  
And a just office on a murderer do.  
Except it be too late, to kill me so,  
Being double dead, going, and bidding go.

Jake left without a word of goodbye. Calleigh didn't turn around, because she wasn't sure she wouldn't tell him to wait, and that would be a mistake. The slow agony of uncertainty that had been haunting her nights since he disappeared did not compare to this shredding pain in her heart. But she wasn't going to look back. She was letting go of him. Even though she knew now that she still loved him, she was equally as certain that he was wrong for her.

She'd been faced with the choice of having Jake in her life - being tied to his recklessness and frivolity and arrogance - or being free of the frustration and worry that life would inevitably bring her.

Besides, there was something to be gained in the loss of Jake. A small consolation, a slight possibility, one that she was only beginning to see.

Eric.

She had made a choice between Jake and Eric before - though by choosing Jake and then breaking it off with him she might have lost them both. But if she could make that choice again, it wouldn't go the same way. She couldn't build any kind of life with Jake knowing that.

She thought of the way Eric held her hand after the fire in her lab. It hadn't been as glamorous and thrilling as Jake's goodbye kiss, maybe, but it had been something. It had _meant _something to her that she couldn't ignore.

But the gripping sorrow of letting Jake go didn't fade for a long time.

Taira no Motonori, Kokinshu 386:

if now you depart -  
setting off with the floating  
banners of autumn  
haze will love linger on in  
the clouded depths of my heart


	65. Found and Lost

Sources: _Tale of Genji_, trans. Edward G Seidensticker;_ If Not, Winter: Fragments of Sappho, _trans. Anne Carson._  
_

Chronology: post "Resurrection."

Anonymous, Kokinshu 811:

As one small mark of your love, if such there be,  
Say no to those who ask if you have seen me.

Dr. Rachel Marsh glanced at her clock. Her next client would arrive soon, if he kept his appointment. Judging by what she'd seen on the news, they would have a lot to talk about tonight.

The doorbell rang, and she answered it promptly. "Eric, right on time."

"I'm trying to be better about that," he said as he stepped inside her home office.

Dr. Marsh watched him for a moment. "I heard about Lieutenant Caine's shooting," she said. "Would you like to talk about it?"

Eric took a breath, then nodded. "It was hard on me. I think it...brought up some issues I've been dealing with. From my shooting, Marisol's death, my trust in my coworkers..." He frowned, looked down at his hands.

"Were you part of the operation to report him as dead?" she asked curiously. The news reports on the incident were vague, inconsistent, and sensationalized. She'd been following the story more closely than the average citizen of Miami because one of her patients was involved.

"No. I didn't know anything about it until later. I thought he was really dead."

She looked at him sympathetically. "How did you feel when you heard he was dead?"

"Shocked. Angry. Scared. I think I was in denial. I had this...need to see his body. Like...like I just couldn't accept it until I did. When Ryan told us he released the body...and then I went to the morgue, and the body wasn't there. That's when I was sure something was up."

"You felt scared?" Dr. Marsh gently prodded.

"Yeah, scared. And lost. I couldn't think straight. I couldn't...I could barely function. But mostly I think I was just angry. I wanted to make someone pay for H's death. I even attacked a suspect we were interviewing. I felt like I was going over the edge. I don't know what I would've done if it weren't for Calleigh."

"Calleigh helped you cope?"

The corner of his lips twitched into a smile. "Calleigh...was my anchor, kept me steady. She kept her head, took over the investigation. It amazes me sometimes, how strong she is."

"Would you say that, when you thought your lieutenant was dead, your primary loyalty shifted to her?"

"Loyalty? Maybe. I've always been close to her. Back when Speedle was alive, the three of us...we were Horatio's team. And then when Speed died, it was me and Calleigh. H relies on her a lot, and I really look up to her."

He was speaking quickly. Dr. Marsh could hardly suppress her smile. "You admire her."

Eric laughed. Then he grew somber. "I think Horatio hurt her as much as he hurt me, trusting Ryan instead of us."

"How was Ryan involved?"

"He's the one who helped H fake his death."

"You've told me your boss is like a brother to you. Why do you think he chose Ryan to confide in?"

He shook his head. "He said he was just trying to protect me, that if the operation went wrong, he didn't want me to get caught up in it. But he should've known how much it would hurt me to lose him too."

"So you're upset at him for caring about your safety and your career more than your feelings?"

Eric exhaled slowly. "Maybe. To be honest, when I saw him, I didn't know if I was more relieved that he was alive or ticked that he let me think he was dead."

"How do you feel now?"

"Now?" He considered it for a second. "I'm just glad he's back, that it's over."

"Let's go back to Calleigh. Do you think sharing the experience of losing your boss brought you closer?"

"I hope so," he replied quietly.

His words confirmed something Dr. Marsh had suspected for several weeks: he was enamored with Calleigh. "Have you talked to her about how you feel?"

Eric smiled sheepishly, seeing he was caught. "Not really. She's told me that she doesn't want to get involved with someone she works with."

"You sound like you don't believe that."

"In the time I've known her, her two most serious relationships have been with MDPD detectives."

"How long have you had feelings for her?"

He thought for several seconds. "I don't know exactly when it started. I've always been attracted to her. I asked for her number the minute we met. But...I was never the kind of man who obsesses about a woman who's not interested. Other fish in the sea, you know. But then, the years we worked together, we kept getting closer, and then something just clicked."

"And yet you haven't spoken to her about it?"

"I guess, part of me feels like I lost my chance with her a long time ago. I used to date a lot of women, and I'd brag about it at work, in front of everyone, even her. Looking back, I can't believe I was that stupid, that I couldn't see what was right in front of me. I know she considers me a good friend, but I don't know if she'd trust me to be more."

"Is that why you haven't dated anyone since your shooting?" Dr. Marsh realized. "You're trying to show her that you could be?"

Eric nodded.

"What changed? What happened that changed what you wanted in a relationship?"

He shrugged. "After I got shot, it really put things in perspective. Made me think about my future, settling down. Be nice if it were Calleigh."

"Tell me something, Eric, and I would like you to consider this question carefully, and answer as honestly as you can." She was trying to figure out if his desire to settle down stemmed from his love for Calleigh, or if he fell in love with Calleigh because after his near-death experience he was looking for something to cling to, and she had been there for him. She knew he would be offended if she suggested that bluntly. Being a good therapist depended not just on knowing what questions to ask, but how to ask them. "If you tell her how you feel and she rejects you, how easy do you think it would be to move on?"

He flinched at the thought. A frown clouded his face. That was a scenario he'd been through in his mind too many times. "You know, one of the detectives she dated...killed himself after she broke up with him. I can kind of see where he was coming from - Calleigh's not someone you can just get over - but I wouldn't do that. I'd never do anything like that." He bit his lip, wishing he hadn't brought that up. "So, I don't know, years, maybe? It's not really something I can imagine."

Dr. Marsh looked at him for a moment. She tried not to let her own husband's recent death affect how she dealt with her patients, but she was having trouble not overly sympathizing with the lovelorn CSI. "That's a possible outcome I think you should accept before you discuss this with her. And be absolutely certain about what you really want, and why."

After a moment, Eric nodded. He was already sure about what he really wanted; accepting that she might not want the same thing would take some work.

Sappho:

if only I, O goldcrowned Aphrodite,  
could win this lot


	66. The Revelation

Sources: _Great Short Poems, _ed. Paul Negri; _Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair, _Pablo Neruda, trans. W.S. Merwin; _Kokinshu; Tale of Genji_._  
_

Chronology: "And How Does That Make You Kill?"

Emily Dickinson:

My life closed twice before its close;  
It yet remains to see  
If Immortality unveil  
A third event to me,

So huge, so hopeless to conceive,  
As these that twice befell.  
Parting is all we know of heaven,  
And all we need of hell.

Eric was shocked to recognize the house. He froze in the doorway as Dr. Marsh was led out. Their eyes met as she passed.

"You know her?" Calleigh asked in surprise.

"She's my therapist," he said quietly.

"I thought you were seeing someone in the department."

"I switched doctors after we found out that the office was bugged," he explained. "Dr. Marsh is contracted with the county."

"So she sees ex-cons and probationers? Broadens our suspect pool."

"Yeah. It could've been any one of her clients; they all know about the private entrance."

"So sad," Calleigh commented. "Tripp said she lost her husband last year, too."

"I had no idea."

"Yeah. She only has a son left."

"I didn't even know she had children," Eric admitted. "It's amazing that she knows so much about me and I don't know anything about her."

"Are you gonna be okay going in there?"

"Yeah, I've been in there dozens of times."

"Not like this," she pointed out.

Eric nodded. "It's time to give something back."

Pablo Neruda, from "So That You Will Here Me":

And I watch my words from a long way off.  
They are more yours than mine.  
They climb on my old suffering like ivy.

It climbs the same way on damp walls.  
You are to blame for this cruel sport.  
They are fleeing from my dark lair.  
You fill everything, you fill everything.

Before you they peopled the solitude that you occupy,  
and they are more used to my sadness than you are.

Now I want them to say what I want to say to you  
to make you hear as I want you to hear me.

Dr. Marsh's murder came as a harsh blow to Eric. In the months he'd been seeing her his life had become more balanced. He'd come to regard her as a friend. She was the best therapist he'd ever had. While his previous therapist had mostly just encouraged him to talk through his problems, insecurities, and fears, Dr. Marsh was never afraid to offer advice on what she though he could do to fix them. He wasn't sure he even wanted to look for a new therapist, after her.

But he could worry about that later. Right now he had to solve her murder.

He'd taken her files from evidence, and he was busy skimming through them, not quite sure what he was looking for, when Calleigh walked in.

"Eric, I am so sorry about Dr. Marsh."

He didn't reply, afraid that if he took the opening to talk about it, he would break down.

"Are these her files?" Calleigh asked suspiciously, " 'Cause I thought I put 'em in lock-up."

"These are the keys to finding Dr. Marsh's killer," he answered.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but doctor-patient confidentiality remains intact after her death unless there's a court order." Being a defense attorney's daughter, of course she knew she wasn't wrong.

"Well that could take days. In the meantime, her killer's still out there, and we don't know who they're gonna kill next."

"But none of this evidence will be admissible..."

"That's fine!" he argued. "Maybe it can lead to something we can use as evidence." He looked away, regretting his outburst. He was just lashing out because he was upset about Dr. Marsh's death, and Calleigh was the last person he wanted to be the target of his displaced anger. "Some of my secrets are in here too. I'm okay with this."

"Okay," she said quietly. Then she did something he didn't expect.

Eric knew what he was doing was a blatant violation of procedure that could get him fired. He'd hoped that, out of consideration for his grief and for the sake of their friendship, Calleigh would turn a blind eye to it. He never would have asked or expected her to sit down and pull a stack of files in front of her. Nervousness churned his stomach. What if she read his file? What was written in it? But he couldn't ask her not to read it, not after using it as a justification for going through the other patients' files.

So he said nothing and returned his focus to the papers in front of him, guilt burning at his fingertips with every page he turned.

Calleigh had been a CSI for over a decade, and she didn't expect to find anything in a psychiatrist's files that could shock her. And she was largely right: none of the patients confided anything Calleigh hadn't seen in her work or studied at the Academy.

But then she came across one file that gave her pause.

Of course, she'd half-expected to come across Eric's file, and she had to confess to being curious about what it might say, especially what it might say about her, but she hadn't anticipated what she would find.

The first paper in the file had "Initial Evaluation" underlined in the top right corner, "Delko, Eric" in the top left, "Pro-Bono" in the margin. The text mentioned Eric's gunshot injury and his continuing struggle to deal with its effects.

She tried to resist reading further. After all, this was the one file she knew wasn't the killer. But her curiosity defeated her best intentions, and she glanced at the next few pages.

Her name at the end of a paragraph caught her attention.

PATIENT FACED WITH THE REPORTED DEATH OF HIS BOSS. PATIENT EXPERIENCED UNCONTROLLABLE SENSE OF RAGE AND HELPLESSNESS. HE FELT LIKE HE WAS "GOING OVER THE EDGE." THE ONLY THING HE FELT WAS ABLE TO KEEP HIM STEADY WAS HIS COWORKER, CALLEIGH.

HIS BOSS WASN'T DEAD. PATIENT SPARED ANOTHER DEVASTATING LOSS. BUT HE SEEMS HURT BY HIS BOSS'S DECISION NOT TO CONFIDE IN HIM, LEAVING HIM IN THE DARK ABOUT FAKING DEATH.

PATIENT EXPRESSES DESIRE TO SETTLE DOWN. ADMITS TO ROMANTIC FEELINGS FOR COWORKER, DATING FROM TIME OF SHOOTING OR SHORTLY AFTER. LATENT ATTRACTION FROM FIRST MEETING.

Calleigh stared at Eric for a second. The "coworker" he admitted to romantic feelings for had to be her, she was sure of it_. _ And he felt like she kept him steady? She couldn't imagine a more touching compliment. But why hadn't Eric told her this?

He noticed the shock on her face. "Find something?"

"No," she said quickly, forcing her expression back to normal and avoiding eye contact. "I think this is a bust."

Calleigh wasn't sure what to say. She needed time to process what she'd read. So, as she so often did, she tucked her emotions in a tidy compartment at the back of her mind and focused on the case at hand.

Anonymous, Kokinshu 485:

can she know of my  
love she who scatters my thoughts  
like reeds cut and strewn  
about if there is no one  
to tell her how can she ever know

At the end of the day, after the case was solved, Eric waited for Calleigh outside the lab doors. He wanted to apologize to her for reading the confidential files. And he wanted to ask her something.

He didn't know what Dr. Marsh had written in his file, but he was sure she must have written about Calleigh. They'd talked about her at least once in every session. Maybe Dr. Marsh hadn't thought that was important enough to note, but Eric seriously doubted it. She'd even said once, a couple of weeks ago, that she could tell whenever Eric was thinking about Calleigh because of the way he would smile.

He had to know. He had to know what Calleigh read.

Finally she came through the door. Her stride slowed to a stop in front of him. "That was a rough day," she said.

"Yeah. I'm sorry if I forced you to compromise your ethics."

"No; you didn't force me into anything. Besides, I think the end result was worth it."

"Yeah. Dr. Marsh was a good lady."

Calleigh looked at him for a moment. "You know that you can talk to me about anything, don't you?"

"Of course," he answered.

She nodded.

"When we were going through the files, did you happen to read mine?"

"Would it matter if I did?" she asked almost coaxingly.

"It just wasn't in my batch, so I figured that, uh..." He looked at her, his silence asking the question he didn't dare articulate: if she read his file, what did she think of it? What did she think of the idea of the two of them together?

"We make a good team."

He nodded slightly. They made a good _team_. That was all. Nothing more. He'd prepared himself for her to say something like that, so he was able to hide his disappointment.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow," she said.

But he didn't see the tiny smile on her face as she walked away, the smile of someone who had a secret.

Murasaki Shikibu:

Do not let it be known, I pray you,  
That your eye has fallen on the mountain cherry.


	67. Just Looking

Source: _The Tale of Genji.  
_

Chronology: post "And How Does That Make You Kill?"

Anonymous, Kokinshu 1080:

In the bamboo by the river Hinokuma,  
Stop that your horse may drink, and I may see you.

_We make a good team._

Calleigh had known what Eric was really asking when he asked if she'd read his file. The problem was, she didn't know the answer yet. So she had been deliberately ambiguous.

One thing she wasn't good at was being in touch with her feelings, especially when it came to the men in her life. She was always conflicted, always uncertain, always doubtful, always suspicious. Of the men she'd dated, the one she'd been most sure about was Jake, and that hadn't exactly worked out. And now that she knew for sure Eric had feeling for her_,_ it just made her more confused about him than ever.

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe what she'd read in his file was about someone else. The more she went over it in her mind, the deeper the doubts dug in. It was like there was a defense attorney in her head pointing out inconsistencies, raising reasonable doubt. Eric had known her for a decade: if he really had feelings for her, how did he keep from acting on them for so long? He was obviously not shy about making his intentions known to women he was interested in.

And then there was her. Yes, she was definitely incredibly attracted to Eric, and she loved him as a friend, but would she want to actually get involved with him? Could she keep from screwing it up? She trusted him completely, but did she trust herself?

She approached him slowly on the beach in the fresh light of the rising sun. He was digging carefully in the wet sand where an elderly woman on a jog said she'd seen someone bury a body. Eric had taken off his shirt, and his undershirt clung tightly to his chest. The muscles of his arms flexed beneath his caramel skin as he shoveled sand away from the dig site.

Calleigh stopped for a moment to admire him surreptitiously. Oh, how often her fingers had hungered to feel those muscles, those arms, that chest, that face, those lips! How many hundreds of dreams and daydreams she'd had of his strong hands gliding over her own skin!

She had to say something. She _had _to say _something_.

The shovel uncovered a black plastic garbage bag. Eric dropped to his knees, pulled on a pair of latex gloves from his kit, and began uncovering it by hand.

"Need some help?" Calleigh inquired.

"Sure," he said. "Nice of you to show up when the heavy lifting is over."

She chuckled. "Oh, but you're so good at the heavy lifting."

He smiled at her, then dropped his eyes.

Deciding it was inappropriate to talk about their relationship at a possible murder scene, Calleigh kept silent as they cleared away the sand. Once the bulging garbage bag was mostly exposed, she measured and photographed it. "You wanna do the honors?"

Taking a pair of small, sharp scissors from his kit, Eric carefully sliced open the bag.

Once they saw what was inside, they started laughing.

The contents of the large garbage bag consisted of lots and lots of garbage: paint cans, glass bottles, pill bottles, plant trimmings, and odd bits of metal.

"I guess we don't have a murder today," Eric said.

"Looks like it."

"But why would someone take the trouble to bury this junk, instead of just tossing it in a dumpster?"

Calleigh lifted out a small plastic medication bottle and read the ingredients. "Maybe they had something else to hide: some of this stuff could've come from a meth lab."

"Then they should've found a better place to dump it than a public beach."

"Well, I'd hate to say this, but the average criminal isn't exactly the brightest kid on the block."

"I'll take this stuff back to the lab and start lifting prints, see where it leads us. At the very least, someone's gonna get fined for littering."

She laughed, then her smile drifted away.

This would be a good time to broach the subject of their feelings for each other. She felt like the words were sitting on her lips, waiting to be formed. But when she tried to move them, she couldn't.

Men went away. Jake went undercover. Peter left her for another woman. John died. Her father lost himself.

Calleigh had watched her father make her mother miserable for years before she finally threw him out. They had loved each other very much, and it had taken her a long time to accept that nothing she could do could change him. It wasn't just the alcohol - that was a symptom of the disease. It was the lies, the empty promises, the false hopes. Little things that crop up in every relationship.

Of course she knew - objectively - that not all men went away one way or another, that some relationships worked. She tried to be an optimist. But she couldn't speak. She was too afraid that if she and Eric were together, he would disappear from her life.

"You okay, Cal?"

She glanced up. "Yeah. I'm fine. I was just thinking we should process the beach for shoe prints before the tide comes in." These words came easily, but it felt like someone else was saying them. Someone who was always professional, always knew the right thing to say, and wasn't afraid of anything. Someone who was okay with being alone.

Anonymous, Shinkokinshu 1701:

A fisherman's daughter, I spend my life by the waves,  
The waves that tell us nothing. I have no home.


	68. Unrequited

Sources: _The Tale of Genji_; _Tales of Ise; Kokinshu__.  
_

Chronology: Early Season 7.

Anonymous,_ Kokinshu_ 488:

My longing so has grown that it fills the skies.  
I wish that it would leave me - but where can it go?

_We make a good team._

He tried not to think about it. But thinking about not thinking about something is an inherently flawed strategy.

Restless on a hot, hazy afternoon after work, Eric had decided to take a short walk to clear his head.

That had been a couple of hours ago.

She hadn't said anything else about what she might have read in his file, and his mind replayed their few words after the case over and over again. He had tried - once again - to accept that they would never be more than friends, that she didn't want anything more, but...

But why shouldn't she? What was so wrong with him that she wouldn't even give him a chance?

His ambulations had taken him to a shady park. He stopped on a bridge and stared into the water.

Tales of Ise 50:

To love  
Unloved  
Is more futile  
Than to write  
On a flowing stream.

When he'd learned about courtly love in his high school lit class - about noble knights who fell in love with ladies above their station, and so humbly served them without asking anything in return - he'd thought it only existed in fairy tales. It was ridiculous; his teenage mind had wondered why they didn't just find more attainable girls to fall in love with instead.

And now here he was. He was enthralled with her. He would do anything for her.

He really, really hated that feeling.

He'd never had trouble getting women. Since high school, his girl problems usually involved getting rid of them. So what was it about Calleigh? She knew how he felt, so if she was interested, she should start dropping hints. And if she wasn't - if she was seeing someone, or just wasn't attracted to him - she should just tell him. Surely their friendship was solid enough that she would feel comfortable just coming right out and telling him that she wasn't interested.

But maybe she had. Maybe he was just refusing to see it.

He continued on his walk. The buzzing of the cicadas in the surrounding trees rose and fell like waves.

The thing was, he knew Calleigh wasn't dating anyone since Jake. And he was sure...almost positive that she had at times felt something more than friendship for him: the kiss on the cheek, the whisper of his name in the burned-out house, the way she held his hand after traumatic events, even the way she'd said "Would it matter if I did?" after he asked her if she'd read his file. Unless he was completely delusional, there was something there.

But maybe he was. Maybe he just wanted so much for her to return his feelings that he saw evidence for something that wasn't there.

Tales of Ise 138:

If speechless I must endure the pain  
Of unrequited love,  
Why must the insects on the leaves  
Lift up their voices  
In noisy lamentation?

Hungry in the early evening, and miles away from his apartment, Eric stopped at a bistro. He apathetically looked over the menu, then ordered a turkey sandwich and a beer.

"You don't look like the kind of guy who usually eats alone," the waitress commented as she jotted down his order.

"You know what they say about looks."

"That they can be deceiving?"

"Yep."

"Then I guess you're _not _pining for some pretty little creature who doesn't know a good thing when she sees it? Because that's exactly what you look like."

Eric breathed a laugh. "I guess I'm not exactly a special case."

"It always seems easier when it's happening to someone else," she sympathized. "You wanna talk about it?"

"I think you pretty much summed it up. And whatever advice you could give, I've probably already tried it."

A group of customers walked through the door. The waitress smiled at him apologetically before moving off to greet them.

She came back a few minutes later with Eric's order. "You know, here's my advice anyway: don't give up, or you'll spend the rest of your life wondering what could've happened if you didn't."

Anonymous, Shuishu 665:

My sickness comes from unrequited longing.  
The medicine I need is brewed from heartvine.

The sun set and the mosquitoes were out in legions when Eric started the long walk back to his apartment. He thought about calling a cab, but decided he could still use more time to think.

"Don't give up" was not actually useful advice. He didn't really have a choice. He'd tried giving up repeatedly, but it wasn't working. He wasn't going to get over Calleigh; whether she ever returned his feelings or not, she would be the love of his life.

Maybe he should just simply ask her out. Openly and unambiguously ask her to dinner. Easy words to say: he'd spoken them out loud hundreds of times. He could even e-mail her, if he didn't have the courage to ask her in person.

As soon as he got home, he opened his computer and started working on the e-mail.

"Dear Calleigh,"

No. Too formal. He erased it.

"Hey Cal."

Too informal.

"I was thinking."

But that sounded stupid.

"We should grab dinner sometime." This seemed both too blunt and too vague.

"Maybe if we're not busy tomorrow, we could go out for dinner" He erased the last word, and wrote "a drink, or coffee."

They had drinks and coffee together often enough. She wouldn't say no to that.

But maybe it was too common. She wouldn't know he was asking her on a date.

He deleted the entire screen, and decided to just write whatever was on his mind. He'd edit it later.

"Dear Calleigh,

"I can't stop thinking about you. I love spending time with you, and I think we should spend more time together outside work. I know you've said you don't want to date people you work with, but I care about you more than anything, and I think we can make it work. I want a chance to see if we can make it work.

"Love, Eric."

He read it over, deleted the word "Love," then continued pressing the "backspace" button through the last sentence of the paragraph. Instead he wrote, "Can we talk about this over dinner? Do you have plans tomorrow night? If you're not interested, I understand, and I promise I wouldn't do anything to hurt our friendship or our working relationship."

Nervousness buzzed like electricity in his gut. The feeling got worse as the cursor approached the "Send" button until it filled his brain and spread down to his fingertips.

He pulled the mouse away from the danger zone. Seemingly of its own accord, it hovered over "Cancel."

Click.

"Exit without saving?"

"OK."

Eric sighed and buried his face in his hands.

Of _course _he couldn't tell her in an e-mail.

Anonymous, Kokinshu 570:

irrationally  
I long for my love whether  
asleep or awake -  
where can I send my heart that  
it may forget you in peace


	69. Shiranuhi

Sources: _Kokinshu; 100 Poems from the Japanese, _trans. Kenneth Rexroth_.  
_

Chronology: "Backfire."

Ariwara no Shigeharu, Kokinshu 372:

is it that I think  
of the great distance that will  
separate us when  
you have gone already I  
yearn though you are still with me

He'd gotten the phone call from Horatio, and rushed to the hospital as fast as Miami traffic allowed. He sprinted down the hospital's familiar halls to the room where he'd been told he could find her, stopping short when he saw her through the window.

All Horatio had told her was that Calleigh had reacted to smoke at an arson scene, she was alive, but in the hospital. Eric had responded that he was on his way and hung up. Now he saw her unconscious, with oxygen tubes and a heart monitor, bringing up memories of the last time he'd almost lost her. "It's worse than I thought," He'd muttered.

The others tactfully left him alone on the excuse of finding Horatio.

Eric watched through the window, watched Calleigh's chest rise and fall. He didn't know how much time passed.

"Calleigh," he whispered. "I love you so much. Please don't let me lose you."

"You won't, Eric," she said. "I love you too. You know that, right?" She reached for him, but her hand couldn't touch him any more than her voice could. It seized her now as a visceral horror that she might die and he would never know how much he meant to her. "Please, Eric, tell me you know that."

He didn't answer. Nothing indicated he sensed her presence.

She glanced at her body lying in the hospital bed, then she looked back at Eric's beloved face. "I don't know what's happening, but I promise that...if I can come back, I'll come back to you."

Empress Yamatohime, Manyoshu 149:

Others may forget you, but not I.  
I am haunted by your beautiful ghost.


	70. The Morning After

Sources: _Love Poems_, ed. Peter Washington;_ The Tale of Genji_; _Discovering Poetry_, Elizabeth Drew.

Chronology: Post "Sink or Swim."_  
_

D.H. Lawrence, "Green":

The dawn was apple-green,  
The sky was green wine held up in the sun,  
The moon was a golden petal between.

She opened her eyes, and green  
They shone, clear like flowers undone  
For the first time, now for the first time seen.

She propped herself up on her pillow and gazed at him. The alarm clock hadn't woken him up. He was so exhausted. Yesterday had been a long day. And they were up very late last night.

A smile crept across her lips at the thought of just how late they had been up last night.

He was beautiful, lying there, eyes closed, bare chest rising and falling slowly. She was torn between the desires to touch him and to let him sleep longer.

Then the memory of the dishes left on the table from the traditional American dinner she'd cooked last night (spicy chicken jambalaya and corn on the cob) intruded on her thoughts. They had savored the meal and a bottle of wine, conversed sporadically, teased each other. They'd both been nervous and excited, knowing where the night would lead.

It had been a long time, for both of them. But the wait had been worth it. He was very, very good.

She sighed and reluctantly slid off the bed. Eric would be forgiven for not coming into work today, but if she were late there would be questions.

Anonymous, _Manyoshu _2542:

My love and I have had one night together.  
May all the nights to come be even thus.

Eric awoke feeling blissfully refreshed, with the smell of something cooking wafting in from the kitchen. The bed beneath him was far firmer, larger, and more comfortable than his lumpy, oversoft mattress. And it was Calleigh's. That was the best part. He smiled and opened his eyes. Her bedroom was just as clean and prim as he'd expected it would be. He loved the bed, and the room, but he would love it more if Calleigh were still in it.

He slid out of bed and found his pants before going into the kitchen. Calleigh didn't hear him over the sputtering of the bacon on the stove. He stood at the door watching her. She wore a short robe. Her blond hair was tousled, probably more so than on typical mornings.

But now that he was in the same room with her again, he found himself nervous, and wasn't sure what to say. What do you say to someone the morning after the best night of your life? And what if...what if she regretted last night? What if she'd changed her mind?

"Hey beautiful," he said quietly.

She turned to him. The freshly risen sun illuminated the curtains of the window behind her. She was smiling, and he had the impression that smile had been there for a while. "Good morning gorgeous," she replied.

Irresistible.

He crossed the kitchen, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her. Maybe with a kiss he could tell her how happy he was, how being with her had proven even better than he'd hoped and dreamed. If, at this moment, she were to tell him what they'd done had been a mistake, that they worked together and couldn't let it happen again, he was sure that it would kill him. His heart would just stop.

The kiss ended and he drew back, searching her face for any shadow of doubt, any trace of unhappiness.

Her eyes fluttered open. Her breathing was heavy. "Please tell me that's how you say good morning every day," she said.

"Only when I really, really mean it."

She kissed him again, more briefly, then gently turned away. "Let me finish breakfast so we can get ready for work."

"Right." His arms and hands slowly released her. He poured the coffee while she dished up the bacon and eggs.

He couldn't help but wonder, as they cast flirtatious glances across the breakfast table, if it was too soon to tell her he loved her.

Henry Austin Dobson:

Rose kissed me today;  
Will she kiss me tomorrow?  
Let it be as it may,  
Rose kissed me today.  
But the pleasure gives way  
To a savour of sorrow, -  
Rose kissed me today, -  
_Will_ she kiss me tomorrow?


	71. Covert

Sources: _Kokinshu; Love Poems_, ed. Peter Washington.

Chronology: between "Time Bomb" and "All Fall Down"

Otomo no Kuronushi, Kokinshu 735:

when memories of  
love burn I retrace my steps  
weeping as the first  
geese traverse the skies with  
lonesome cries but does she know

They met for coffee. It was Eric's suggestion. He was still trying to get back into her good graces after spying on the lab.

"...but Trace found some cells from the saliva on the envelope, which turned out to be a match to his former secretary. As soon as we confronted her with that evidence, she was begging to make a deal."

Eric laughed. "So after going through all that trouble of hiding her identity on the cell phone call, finding out when the ex-wife didn't have an alibi, and making sure there was no evidence on the ransom note, she was caught by licking the envelope?"

Calleigh shrugged. "You have to admit, otherwise it was a pretty good scheme."

"Yeah."

There was a lull in the conversation, and both took a few sips of their coffees.

"Calleigh, there's something I want to talk to you about," Eric said.

Her pretty eyebrows rose. "What is it?"

"Since...well, for a while now, I've been thinking a lot about...how I really feel about where I'm at in my life. The truth is, my work at the DA's office just feels like a job. I don't have the passion for it that I used to have for...working at the lab. And on top of that, I don't like feeling like I'm serving two masters. I'm always gonna be loyal to Horatio. When I left, I thought I was done. I thought it wouldn't be the same for me again. But now it feels like...I'm not doing what I love to do."

"Are you saying you want to come back to CSI?"

Eric nodded. "Yeah."

"Have you talked to Horatio about it?"

"I wanted to talk to you first," he said.

"Why?"

He looked down at his cup. "Because...I don't want things to be complicated. For you or for...us." He wasn't sure exactly where he stood with her right now. He wasn't sure if he should worry that she wouldn't trust him professionally, or that she didn't want to work with someone she was seeing romantically.

Her answer was an expression that he knew well: a slight tilt of the head accompanying a small, soft smile that was half-amused and half-reassuring.

She reached across the table and took his hand. "Eric, you're a great CSI. The lab will be lucky to have you back."

He stared at her hand on his. "But do you want me to come back? You, Calleigh Duquesne?"

"Yes, I do." She set aside her almost-empty cup of coffee and took his other hand. "I want you back."

His heart and mind froze at her words and her touch. His entire being focused on her hands. How could she still do this to him? It had been over a year since their first kiss, and still simply holding hands with her could make him feel like he was falling in love for the first time.

If this was as much as he would ever touch her again, then he never wanted to let go.

They stayed like that, silently, for over a minute. Then he risked a glance at Calleigh's face, wondering if she was feeling the same thing.

Her eyes were closed.

After a moment, perhaps from some change in his touch, she opened them and smiled at him. "I should be getting back to work. I'll see you around."

"Yeah."

She slipped her hands out of his, picked up her cup, and walked away. She turned around at the door, sending him another parting smile.

He sighed and took a sip of his lukewarm coffee.

The reasons he'd given her for wanting to go back to CSI were all true: he did miss the work, feeling like he was making a difference, part of a team. But there was another reason.

One of the dangers of dating a coworker was that spending too much time together makes you tired of each other. He couldn't imagine that happening with Calleigh: he loved working with her, observing her brilliance, her dedication, her compassion. Even if they could spend every moment outside work together, he would miss that aspect of her.

He wished he knew she felt the same way about him.

Li Shang-Yin, "Willow," trans. Eugene Eoyang and Inying Y. Lo:

Awakening spring: how many leaves!  
Rustling dawn: how many branches!  
Does she know the pangs of love?  
Never a time she wouldn't dance.

Pussy willow aflutter - hide white butterfly,  
Tendrils hanging limp - bare yellow oriole.  
All-conquering beauty, perfect through and through:  
Who would enjoy just the brows of her eyes?


	72. Shadows

Sources: _Kokinshu_; _The Tale of Genji_; _Immortal Poems of the English Language_; _Birdsong_; _Tales of Ise;_ _1000 Poems from the Manyoshu_.

Chronology: Early Season 7.

Fujiwara no Kachion, Kokinshu 472:

even the ship which  
sails forth over white waves which  
rise and fall leaving  
no trace can rely on the  
winds to guide it safely home

It began innocently enough. Terrible mistakes usually do.

Eric had grown curious about his Russian heritage, and the stories his father told him about growing up in Russia. He decided to try to find some of his paternal relatives. Eventually, he managed to track down a great aunt living in Saint Petersburg, Matrona Delektorskaya. He recalled his father speaking fondly of his "Auntie Motya". When he went to Cuba, he'd kept in touch with her by mail until he moved to the United States, where correspondence with the Soviet Union was more difficult.

Eric sent a letter to Matrona Delektorskaya's address explaining who he was and asking if she was interested in further contact. The letter had included his e-mail address, and it wasn't long before he received an enthusiastic e-mail from her. They arranged a time to talk by Skype.

Motya was a pleasant, white-haired woman with a small face and dark, sparkling eyes. When Eric greeted her, she smiled widely and complimented him on his Russian. She asked how his father was doing, and inquired after each of his older sisters. She was saddened to learn of Marisol's death, even though she'd never met her. Then she asked how old Eric was. He told her, and related the story of his birth when his family reached America.

Her lips drew into a thin frown. She thought for a long moment. Eric asked her if something was wrong.

"Perhaps you should ask your mother the real story," Motya replied. She asked Eric to give her regards to her nephew (she'd emphasized that: "my nephew," not "your father") and hung up.

The Lady of Kohachijo, Gosenshu 683:

Though not so near as to step upon your shadow,  
I face a gate which says: "Come not my way."

That call bothered him, nagged at him. He told his father that he'd spoken to his Aunt Matrona, but couldn't think of a way to ask what she'd been talking about. He'd almost asked his mother, but changed his mind at the last second. He couldn't remember anyone ever hinting that there had been some unusual circumstance about his birth, but as he thought over the story he'd been told so many times over the years, minor inconsistencies started to crop up, things like where their boat landed, the time of day, little details. The kinds of details an attorney would pounce on in cross-examination as evidence of fabrication. He tried to think of a way he could find out more.

There was a woman his mother had been friends with back in Cuba named Eva Suarez Bermudez. She'd immigrated a few years ago. She, Eric's mother, and some other Cuban women sometimes got together for coffee and to talk about life in America. Eric didn't know her very well, but a few weeks after his conversation with his long-lost great aunt, he found an excuse to visit her.

"Eric, what a pleasant surprise. What are you doing here?"

"I was in the neighborhood, and I remembered my mother telling me you hadn't been feeling well. I thought I'd stop by and see if you needed anything."

"How thoughtful of you. I had a touch of flu last week, but I'm fine now."

"That's good to hear."

"Do you have time for a cup of coffee?"

He smiled politely. "You don't have to go to the trouble. I was just stopping by."

"No trouble. I insist."

He accepted readily. She ushered him into her living room, and a couple of minutes later returned with coffee and biscottis.

"Your mother speaks so highly of you, and you're always so polite, but I've barely had a chance to talk to you."

"That's true. Of course, with how busy things are these days, I haven't even been able to spend as much time with my mother as I'd like." He sipped his coffee, then, as though trying to find a subject to continue the conversation, asked, "How did you and my mother know each other?"

"We lived in the same neighborhood in Havana. I knew your family very well. I was a little sorry when you left for America."

"Did my parents tell you why they were leaving? They always told us it was to give their children a better life, but it sounds like things were pretty good for them there."

"Well, you know. Everyone was poor and worried about the government, but you find a way to be happy sometimes no matter where you are. But, to be honest, it did seem like it wasn't just about going to America, it seemed like they were trying to get away from something."

"What?"

She leaned forward like she was about to share some gossip. "One day, your father went into the factory where your mother worked, and had to be dragged out by security. We were afraid he was going to be arrested. He left town for a few weeks. As soon as he returned, your family left for America."

"What happened?"

"I don't know, but your mother said she was having some trouble with one of the Russian overseers at the factory. A man named Sharova. I don't remember his first name."

"A _man _named Sharova?"

"Yes. I think he was second-generation, went by his mother's version of their family name. His Spanish was better than his Russian. I heard he left for Miami himself a few years before I did."

"What kind of trouble did my mom have with him?"

"I don't know. There were rumors that he was involved with some shady people, illegal deals. I don't know if it was that kind of trouble. Sharova was also a handsome young man, so maybe that had something to do with it. But something was going on there. With all your sisters, your mother took them to show her friends at the factory when they were newborns, but she didn't with you."

It took a moment for Eric to recognize the implications of that statement. "You remember me as a baby?" he asked, hiding how shocked he was by that startling revelation.

"Oh yes. You were a little charmer, with your big smile and your big dark eyes. Everyone said you were going to grow up to be a heartbreaker. All you had to do was bat your eyes and you'd have any woman under your spell."

Eric looked into his coffee mug, which was empty.

"Would you like some more?" Eva inquired, rising.

"No, thank you. You've already been too kind; I need to be going. Thank you."

"Your welcome. Drop by any time."

Emily Dickinson:

Presentiment is that long shadow on the lawn  
Indicative that suns go down;  
The notice to the startled grass  
That darkness is about to pass.

Eric couldn't find a way to reconcile Eva's memory of him in Cuba with what he'd been told all his life. Trying to clear up the mystery, he requested a copy of his birth certificate, only to find out it was not on file in Miami-Dade County.

There had to be some mistake. He tried to figure it out as he walked along the beach that evening, pondering the hints and adumbrations.

the waves of the Atlantic were shining steel blue under the overcast sky.

Miami was his home. He'd been born and raised here. Or so he'd always believed. What if he was wrong? What if he'd been lied to? How could his birth certificate not be on file? Was it a fake? Why would his parents give him a fake birth certificate? His parents and his sisters had all become naturalized American citizens. If he'd been born in Cuba, why couldn't they just have done the same for him? It made no sense. Unless they were trying to hide something else.

Did it have something to do with Sharova? Was it just a coincidence that Sharova had followed his family to Miami?

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow:

The tide rises, the tide falls,  
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;  
Along the sea-sands damp and brown  
The traveller hastens toward the town,  
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

Darkness settles on roofs and walls,  
But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls;  
The little waves with their soft, white hands,  
Efface the footprints in the sands,  
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls  
Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;  
The day returns, but nevermore,  
Returns the traveller to the shore,  
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

Eric asked at a few bars, cafés, and a cigar shop trying to find any more information, with no luck. There was one more place he could think of: a strip club he used to go to that was popular with Miami's Russian community. Rumor had it the Russian mob ran the place. It was called Rusalka.

He walked through the crowd, wondering if the person he was looking for still worked there. After failing to find her among the women on the stage, he finally spotted her carrying drinks.

Her eyes widened when she saw him. "Eric. I haven't seen you in…years. What the hell are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you, too, Irina."

She turned away from him with a derisive flip of her long brown hair. He followed her as she maneuvered through the crowd with a tray of empty glasses.

"What do you want?" she demanded.

"To talk."

"If you wanted to talk, you should've returned my calls."

"Sorry. Actually, I need a favor."

She plopped the tray on a counter with a careless clank and turned back toward him, her sharp, chiseled features scrunched in a tight frown. "A favor? Seriously? You know when I could've used a favor? When I broke my wrist and couldn't dance anymore, and if I had a boyfriend, I might have had a place to live while I looked for a new job, but I didn't because he dumped me when he found out about _you_, so instead I got stuck here doing grunt work that barely pays the bills."

"Sorry."

"So what makes you think I'll do you a favor?"

"I'll owe you one," he tried.

"I don't need a favor; I need money."

Eric fished two twenties out of his wallet and handed them to her. "It's all I've got on me."

She took the money, which smoothly vanished into her apron. "I'm listening."

"Have you ever heard of a man named Sharova?"

Her hand froze as she reached for an empty glass on a table. " Sharova? _Alexander _Sharova?"

Eric had no idea of the man's first name, but how many Sharovas could there be? "Yeah."

"Don't mess with him."

"I'm not planning on it. I just want to know about him."

She glanced around, then looked at him. "Look, I know you're like a cop now; whatever you're investigating, drop it. That's all I'm going to say."

"Is he mob?"

"Yeah. He's not one of the guys who calls the shots, but he's close to them. He came over from Cuba a few years ago, with their help. His English is so good he can pass for American when he wants to, which is what they usually use him for, as far as I can tell."

"You've met him?"

"He's been in here before, and I've heard people talk about him. I have no idea how to find him, if you're wondering."

"What does he look like?"

"Middle-aged, shabby, poorly groomed, no sense of style at all. He seems…dangerous. Desperate, almost, like he's capable of anything. Why do you want to know about him?"

"His name came up in something I'm working on. It's probably nothing."

"It _is _nothing. Even if it's something, it's nothing. Get my drift?"

"Yeah. I got it."

"If anyone asks, I didn't tell you a damn thing."

"Thanks, Irina."

"Get lost, Eric."

Murasaki Shikibu:

Time goes by, you ask not why I ask not.  
Think if you will how lonely a life is mine.

Ever since reading his file, Calleigh had been watching Eric for any sign, any corroborating evidence for what she'd read. If he really cared about her, he should have said something, and if he suspected she read his file, as she was sure he did, he should have been watching her for any indication that she was wondering about him.

But lately he seemed distant. He was working less overtime, keeping his conversations strictly professional, almost never joining them for drinks after work, and leaving early when he did. She began to wonder if he was avoiding her.

"The sample was too degraded to get a DNA match, so it's her word against his. I hate these cases."

"Uh huh."

Natalia looked up from the printout in her hands. "Calleigh, did you hear a word I just said?"

"Yeah. Her word against his. We know what most likely happened, but we can't prove it in court."

"Is something bothering you? You've barely said two words since I walked in here."

She smiled apologetically. "It's nothing. It's just…has Eric seemed kind of distracted to you lately?"

"Not as much as you." Then she gave it some serious thought. "A little. Maybe it has something to do with the new medical examiner."

"Dr. Price? What about her?"

"I think Eric has a little crush on her. He told me he thinks she's cute, and you know how he is with every pretty face who crosses his path."

"Yes, I do know how he is," Calleigh agreed, forcing a smile.

Rumi:

I used to have fiery intensity,  
and a flowing sweetness.

The waters were illusion.  
The flames, made of snow.

Was I dreaming then?  
Am I awake now?

Eric was having trouble sleeping. He had bits and pieces of a puzzle he couldn't put together. It seemed like his family had been lying to him his whole life, but why? What were they hiding? And what, if anything, did if have to do with a Russian mobster named Alexander Sharova?

As he left his apartment one morning, he thought he saw someone across the street dart out of sight. But when he looked around the corner and didn't see anyone, he decided it was his imagination.

While he was driving to work, he kept thinking he saw the same gray sedan in his rearview mirror. He drove around a block, and didn't see it anymore.

He told himself he was being paranoid, but he couldn't stop thinking about it.

"Hey."

Eric accidentally slammed his locker shut when he heard Calleigh's voice behind him. He turned toward her. "Hey. Sorry."

"You're a bit jumpy today," she noted. "Is everything alright?"

"Fine. Why?" It didn't even cross his mind to confide in her. Like Marisol's cancer, this seemed too personal, something he had to deal with himself.

"You look tired. Are you sure you're feeling okay?"

"Yeah."

She felt his forehead for a temperature.

Eric's eyes closed. Suddenly he did feel feverish.

Calleigh drew her hand away, and Eric's eyes opened.

"Okay," she said. "But Eric, tell me if anything's wrong, alright?"

"Yeah. Of course." His voice sounded weak to his own ears.

Calleigh smiled at him and walked away. He leaned his head back against the lockers and took a deep breath. All she had to do was touch his forehead and everything else became a blur. He was hopeless.

Tales of Ise 23:

Though rain may fall,  
I forbid you, clouds,  
To veil Mount Ikoma,  
For I live only  
To gaze toward my beloved.

He'd nearly forgotten about feeling like he was being followed that morning. For the first time in weeks, he wasn't bothered by wondering what secret his parents may have been keeping from him.

Until he arrived at his apartment that night and took a look at his mail. There were just a couple of bills and some junk mail, but all of them had been sliced open carefully on one edge.

As he went through his rooms, he noticed a few little things that seemed to be out of place. He was sure he'd turned his fan off when he left for work, but now it was on. There was a stack of papers on his kitchen table that he was almost sure had been on the other side of the table before. In the drawer in his bedroom was a folder containing all the information he'd been able to find about Alexander Sharova, and some of the pages were missing.

He wasn't a tidy housekeeper, and he often put things in places that made no sense to him later, but he couldn't escape the conclusion that his apartment had been searched.

What could he do? He could process his apartment for prints, but then what? He'd need the computers at the lab to run whatever he found through AFIS. He could ask Horatio for help, but then he'd have to explain what he was doing, and his boss would find out his birth certificate may have been faked. Horatio might still help him, after all they'd been through together, but then he could become complicit in whatever Eric was getting himself into. He couldn't do that to him, not until he knew more.

This had to be because he was asking around about Sharova. It was too late to turn back now, even if he wanted to. He had to find the truth. His apartment was no longer safe, and there was no one he could think to turn to for help, not without possibly putting them in danger. He'd have to find somewhere else to stay, someplace where it wouldn't be easy to find him.

Eric had started poking around in something that should have been left alone, and now someone was poking back.

Anonymous, Manyoshu 3624:

When we think that we alone  
Are steering our ships at midnight  
We hear the splash of oars  
Far beyond us.


	73. Keepsakes

Sources: _The Kokinshu; Love Poems by Women, _ed. Wendy Mulford;_ Tales of Ise; Only Companion_; _The Sound of Water, _trans. Sam Hamill; _1000 Poems from the Manyoshu; Love Poems_, ed. Peter Washington.

Chronology: Season 7.

Anonymous, Kokinshu 796:

how hateful a thing  
my heart has become had it  
never been suffused  
with love for him would I now  
regret his fading desire

Calleigh was not someone who sat around feeling sorry for herself. Usually. Tonight, she feared, would be an exception.

This was just like Eric, making her think he was in love with her and then just carrying on like it was business as usual.

But then, she couldn't really blame him. He never came out and told her he had feelings for her, and he certainly never meant for her to read his file.

She had asked him, at the end of work today, if he wanted to have a drink with her. He told her he was busy.

Maybe he was telling the truth, but he didn't tell her what he was busy doing.

It wasn't exactly a rejection, but if he really felt about her the things he'd told his therapist, wouldn't he at least have told her why he didn't want to spend time with her? She couldn't shake the suspicion that he'd been talking about someone else, or had moved on since then.

They had drinks together after work often enough, but this would have been different, just the two of them. She had been looking forward to it all day, sure he would say yes, and now she was in a terrible mood.

What was he up to tonight? She couldn't help but wonder. And with whom?

Marie de France, trans. Helen R. Lane:

Love is a wound within the body  
That has no outward sign.

She dug some leftover stroganoff out of the fridge and stuck it in the microwave, then went to her bedroom. As she put away her earrings, her eye flicked to the black cloth in the back of her jewelry box. It had been weeks since she'd even thought about it. Wrapped in that cloth was the engagement ring Jake had given her.

For all his faults, at least Jake had always been open about his feelings for her.

She suddenly missed him. If she had any idea what his number was, she would have been tempted to dial it.

Tales of Ise 119:

These very keepsakes  
Are now a source of misery,  
For without them  
There would perhaps be times  
When I might forget.

She shut her jewelry box with slightly more force than necessary and returned to the leftovers in her kitchen. She glanced at her clock, then opened her fridge and grabbed a can of beer. She took it and the Tupperware of leftover stroganoff to her couch and turned on her TV to watch the new episode of _The Marrying Kind._

It occurred to her, for some reason, that she was sitting on the couch where Eric slept on the few occasions when he'd crashed at her place.

She lay her head back and closed her eyes. Why would she think of that now, so soon after being reminded of Jake? Jake was out of her life, and Eric was apparently not as interested in her as shed thought.

Anonymous, Kokinshu 1041:

I did not love the  
one who set his heart for me-  
is it fate's revenge  
is it retribution the  
one I love does not love me

One of the potential brides on the show was confiding to the camera. _"I always knew there was someone out there for me. I never thought Id meet him doing a TV show, but why not? I'm falling for him. I cant help it. I really think hes the one for me, my Mr. Right. I can totally see myself marrying him."_

Calleigh sighed. She used to be sure she would get married someday, but she was beginning to seriously doubt that would ever happen. It didn't really matter, of course. She had her career, her friends, and her family; she didn't need a husband to be happy.

But for a moment she considered auditioning for the next season of _The Marrying Kind._

Anonymous, Kokinshu 205:

Cicadas sing  
high in their mountain home  
and evening gathers  
its darkness. Only the wind  
no one else will ever come.

By the time Eric arrived at his room in the Deluca Motel, it was well past midnight. The last few hours had been spent on another fruitless search for answers about his past.

The stuffy motel room was too hot, as usual. He opened the window. The night air was thick and humid. The clouds glowed orange with reflected street lights. Exhausted, he sat in the threadbare, dusty sofa and listened to the sounds of cars on the nearby interstate, wind rustling in the palm trees, and the twittering of some far-off night bird.

Issa:

A flowering plum  
and a nightingale's love song-  
he remains alone

The last break in his search for answers had come a few days ago. He'd found a man who made false documents for immigrants. He agreed to speak to him on the condition of anonymity. Because of the unique laws regarding Cuban immigration, he rarely was asked for fake birth certificates for Cubans. Eric inquired what reasons a Cuban immigrant might have for wanting an American birth certificate. His contact had suggested that person was a criminal wanting a new identity, hiding from someone, or maybe someone who knew they couldn't legally gain American citizenship. Possibly, also, he'd said as an afterthought, a child with a parent who might not agree to their child immigrating to America.

That hadn't been the first time the possibility of illegitimacy had occurred to him, but he had always dismissed it without a second thought. He knew his parents loved each other; there had never been any hint that something as serious as infidelity had ever disrupted their marriage. Besides, his mother was a deeply religious Catholic who never would have broken the Seventh Commandment.

But they were lying to him about _something_. He no longer doubted that much. So maybe that was it.

It was too late to worry about it. He wished he'd taken Calleigh up on the offer of a drink earlier, instead of wasting his evening chasing another false lead. He could use a drink.

He frowned into the murky dimness of his room. It wasn't uncommon for them to go out for drinks after work, but had she mentioned anyone else coming? He couldn't remember. Maybe she meant just the two of them. Was it possible shed been asking him on a date?

He hated how screwed up his life was becoming. He wished he could take it all back, just forget he'd ever learned about his birth certificate, go back to his own apartment, and devote his investigative efforts to figuring out how Calleigh felt about him, instead of why his family had been lying to him for his entire life.

Anonymous, Manyoshu 3255-3256:

Since days of old it has been said:  
'Love brings trouble to our hearts.'  
So it is said from mouth to mouth.  
And, not sure of my maiden's mind,  
Nor of the means whereby to learn it,  
Pouring all my mind and soul out  
Till my heart withers like cut rushes,  
In secret and unknown  
I shall feed my helpless love for her  
While I have breath.

__

Envoy

Though she may not think of me like this,  
Alas, I cannot forget her  
Even for a moment!

He forced himself to move. He took his shoes off, washed his hands, and made a quick bologna sandwich. He opened his suitcase to fish out something to wear tomorrow.

When he left his apartment, he'd put most of his stuff into storage, taking only a couple of suitcases with him. Just necessities except for a few small sentimental items. He looked them over: photographs, books, and a silver cross.

He picked it up. It had been in his hand when he woke up in the hospital after being shot. For a long time, he assumed it was Horatio who'd put it there, but when he finally asked, Horatio told him he didn't know anything about it. Eric later mentioned the cross to his sisters and his parents, but none of them had indicated they knew where it came from.

There weren't many other people he could think of. He started wondering if it was Calleigh's. He'd never been able to bring himself to ask her. Did she have feelings for him back then?

No, probably not. She would have told him. He had, after all, let her know he was interested in her the minute they met.

A tired smile crooked his lips as he recalled their first meetings. He'd thought she was pretty, definitely, but it was her mellifluous voice that first caught his attention, like a songbird with a Southern accent.

Oshikochi no Mitsune, Kokinshu 481:

Since first I heard her  
voice refreshing as the first faint  
call of wild geese in  
autumn I have wandered on  
the heavens enchanted paths

She had literally laughed at his pick-up line, which had actually been a clumsy meshing of two different lines he typically used to hit on girls at clubs and beaches. They seemed too ribald for the polite, professional lady cop, so he'd improvised. It had sounded better in his head. And, of course, when she laughed at him he fumbled for some way to salvage her first impression, and he walked away writing it off as a strike-out. It hadn't bothered him. Other fish in the sea.

If he'd only known.

Robert Frost, "Never Again Would Birds' Song Be the Same":

He would declare and could himself believe  
That the birds there in all the garden round  
From having heard the daylong voice of Eve  
Had added to their own an oversound,  
Her tone of meaning but without the words.  
Admittedly an eloquence so soft  
Could only have had an influence on birds  
When call or laughter carried it aloft.  
Be that as may be, she was in their song.  
Moreover her voice upon their voices crossed  
Had now persisted in the woods so long  
That probably it never would be lost.  
Never again would birds' song be the same.  
And to do that to birds was why she came.


	74. Naniwa

Sources: 2001 Waka website, trans. Thomas McAuley; _The Tale of Genji; Immortal Poems of the English Language_, ed. Oscar Williams.

Chronology: "Fallen"

Prince Motoyoshi, _Hyakunin Isshu _20:

I am unhappy.  
I do not care what happens.  
I must see you, even  
If it means I shall  
Be lost in Naniwa Bay.

Confusion turned quickly to fear as Eric walked into the lab to find everyone on the floor, motionless.

"Walter!" he cried, sprinting to the nearest of his fallen comrades. He shook him firmly. "Walter!"

He quickly grew frantic. "Calleigh!" He ran through the lab until he spotted her, dove to the floor next to her and pulled her into his arms. "Calleigh. Hey. Baby. I'm gonna get you out of here."

Breathing was becoming difficult. Something in the air was choking him. That must have been what happened to everyone.

"Somebody!" he shouted desperately. "Somebody help!"

But, of course, no one within earshot was conscious. It was up to him. He had to get out of there.

Leaving Calleigh behind didn't even cross his mind.

Yuan Chen, _Wakan Roeishu _267:

I do not love, among flowers, the chrysanthemum only;  
But when it blooms and falls, there are no more.

As he carried the unconscious woman toward the elevator, the effects of oxygen deprivation to his body and brain became more pronounced. He'd been diving long enough to know the signs, to know exactly what was happening to him.

Calleigh's small body felt increasingly heavy in Eric's arms. His brain processes were growing dull. His vision was starting to be blotted out at the edges. The elevator didn't seem to be getting any closer.

And then the button bearing the number 1 above the elevator door illuminated. It took a moment for his foggy brain to calculate the significance of that: someone was coming up. Were they coming here?

His fingers dug into Calleigh and he continued his stumbling steps toward the door. "I gotcha." He wasn't sure whether he'd said those words aloud or just thought them.

Two.

Finally he couldn't move any more. He fell to the floor, Calleigh beneath him. Soon he would lose consciousness too, and in a few minutes their bodies would suffocate.

The elevator.

Three.

Would it stop at four? It was their only hope for survival.

_Ding._

Horatio stepped out from between the doors of the elevator with his gun drawn. At first he feared he was too late, that they were already dead. Then he saw the movement of Eric's head and hand.

He gasped something incomprehensible.

"Air?" Horatio guessed, perplexed.

Eric pointed at the window.

And then he understood. Poison gas. "Air..."

He shot out the window.

As the breeze began clearing out the room, Eric began to revive.

"Breathe, Eric. Breathe."

He gasped, trying to restore oxygen to his blood.

"Okay." Horatio turned his attention to Calleigh. "Calleigh, come on sweetheart. Breathe."

Eric ran his hand over her chin and hair. "Breathe. Breathe!" he begged her in gasps.

She opened her eyes, panting.

But before she or Eric had the chance to say anything, they heard Natalia shout for help.

Ki no Tomonori, Kokinshu 561:

In the evening  
How sad seems  
the moths in their  
disastrous confusion;  
my love does as much to me and more.

"You okay?" Eric asked as they walked out of the lab. He'd been wanting to talk to her all day, but hadn't had the chance.

"I don't know," Calleigh admitted. "With the case to focus on, it was easier to deal, but now we really have to face that Cardoza's gone. He was one of us."

"Yeah. I know what you mean. He wasn't just a good cop, he was a friend."

"Yeah."

He looked at her, biting his lip before asking hesitantly. "How's your breathing? How are your lungs?"

"I'm fine." She smiled. Then she looked away and the smile fell.

"What is it?"

"When I was...in the lab and realized I couldn't breathe, I felt...like it was happening all over again. I thought it was just me, that something was wrong with my lungs." She admitted in a whisper, "I was scared."

"So was I."

"I had a dream," she added quickly, "that I was drowning. I dreamed that you saved me."

He wasn't sure what to say to that. "It was just a dream."

"Funny thing is, I'm pretty sure I was in the hall when I passed out, but when I woke up I was by the elevator, with you and Horatio. Horatio said he found you and me there when he got there."

He took a breath before answering. "When I walked in and saw everyone on the floor, I found you, and tried to carry you out."

"Why didn't you break the window?"

"By the time I realized the air was poisoned, I didn't have the strength to move."

"Well why didn't you leave to get help?"

He shrugged helplessly. "I wasn't thinking."

"So, out of everyone in there, you just wanted to save me?"

"I thought you were in the most danger," he claimed. "With your lung condition, I thought you might run out of oxygen faster than the others."

She turned her head slightly, quizzically. "But I thought you said you didn't realize it was poison gas at first."

"The truth is I didn't even think about it. All I could think of was getting you to safety."

"I'm honestly not sure how I feel about that," she admitted after a moment.

He opened his mouth to say something, then just nodded, because he understood: in his place, she would've kept her head, figured out what was going on, and handled it better, even if someone she loved was dying in front of her. That was the difference between them. He wished he had Calleigh's judiciousness and sangfroid. Then maybe Jesse would still be alive.

But of course she would never blame him for that, he mused. Not out loud, anyway.

"Let's go," she said. "They'll be waiting for us."

He watched her from the corner of his eye as they walked. He may have saved her life today, and he was worried that she was disappointed in him.

Percy Bysshe Shelley:

One word is too often profaned  
For me to profane it;  
One feeling too falsely disdain'd  
For thee to disdain it;  
One hope is too like despair  
For prudence to smother;  
And pity from thee more dear  
Than that from another.

I can give not what men call love:  
But wilt thou accept not  
The worship the heart lifts above  
And the heavens reject not,  
The desire of the moth for the star,  
Of the night for the morrow,  
The devotion to something afar  
From the sphere of our sorrow?

Knowing she wouldn't sleep much that night, Calleigh sat up late, just thinking. The house seemed too quiet, but she wasn't in the mood for noise.

She was thinking about Jesse. She hadn't exactly gone out of her way to get to know him, and she had no good excuse for that. She could have been more welcoming to him, given him the benefit of the doubt when evidence arose that he was stalking an accused murderer and his wife.

And she was thinking about Eric. Any one of them would risk their life to save someone else: that was, after all, their duty as police officers. But as far as she could figure out about the events in the lab, he'd risked his life for a very slim chance of saving hers, and he'd done it without hesitation, without any thought for his own safety. On one hand, she was grateful to him for saving her, for saving them all by telling Horatio to shoot out the window. On the other hand, it terrified her that she had that effect on Eric, that he loved her so much he would disregard his own life for her. It made her wish he loved her less.

What would she have done in his place? She didn't know. She couldn't even imagine it. She wished she had Eric's bravery and passion. And she wished she could find a way to let him know how much he meant to her.

Ki no Tsurayuki, _Kokinshu _604:

In the land of Tsu  
at Naniwa, the reed  
buds swell - while I gaze from afar -  
Most abundantly - full of love -  
Does she even know?


	75. Pontos Axeinos

Sources: _2001 Waka website, _trans. Thomas McAuley; _Tale of Genji, _trans. Edward Seidensticker_; _Don M. Wolfe, _A Study of Poetry; __1000 Poems from the Manyoshu; __100 Poems from the Japanese, _trans. Kenneth Rexroth; _Love Poems by Women_, ed. Wendy Mulford; _Kokinshu; Immortal Poems of the English Language; Moon in the Pines, _trans. Jonathan Clements; _No Bliss Like This,_ ed. Jill Hollis_._

Chronology: late Season 7.

Anonymous, _Man'yoshu _1317:

On the sea bed  
Is sunk a pearl;  
The wind blows and  
The sea rages, but  
Unless I hold it in my hand, I'll not stop.

High, wispy white clouds and seagulls floated in the intense blue Miami sky.

Two Hummers arrived at the old seaside house where long stretches of police tape were being strung around the building and two police cars.

Horatio and Calleigh got out of one Hummer, Ryan and Natalia climbed out of the other.

Frank Tripp was waiting for them at the front steps, scowling.

"I heard that Donald Garcia is still in the wind," said Horatio.

"Believe me, I've got guys combing the area for him. I don't want to give this monster a chance to get away again. What kind of a sicko hides out at his grandma's house?"

"We'll need all the guns involved in the shootout," Calleigh reminded him, eyes scanning the bullet casings around the police cars.

Rick Stetler walked out of the house. "We've already confiscated them. You may be good, Duquesne, but your lab has a reputation of protecting your own, and on this we can't afford to look anything less than spotless."

"Need I remind you, Rick," Horatio said, "that our priority right now is to catch a convicted drug dealer and cop killer."

"Of course not. But we can't ignore the body in there. Can you imagine what the press is going to say about this?" He walked past them without waiting for an answer.

"What did happen here, Frank?" Horatio asked when Stetler was gone.

"We were being shot at. We didn't see who was firing at us. There wasn't time to second guess. The cops involved did what they had to do."

Horatio nodded. "Did you fire your weapon at any point, Frank?"

"No. I was around back when the firing started. By the time I got back up here, the shooting was over."

"Okay. Show me where you were. Calleigh," he turned toward her. "I need you and Miss Boa Vista to process the house as quickly as possible. Ryan, take the cars. I want to make sure we get the whole story out before the press gets wind of this."

"Right."

The two women entered the old house through the open front door.

"This does not look good," Natalia stated.

On the floor was a shotgun, casings, and the bullet-ridden body of a petite white-haired woman.

"Juanita Garcia, Don Garcia's grandmother," Calleigh said. "From the blood spatter, I'd say she was alone in the room when this happened."

Natalia checked the hand for gunshot residue. "Positive for GSR. A lot of it."

Calleigh called Horatio. "Hey, I just wanted you to know that we've established Garcia's grandmother was the one firing the shotgun."

"_Okay. Thank you. A motorboat Frank saw earlier is missing from the dock. It looks like Garcia stole it. Eric and I are going out there."_

"Hopefully we catch him before anyone else gets hurt. Be careful."

"_Always."_

Calleigh looked back at the body. She was glad Alexx was no longer the medical examiner; an old woman who died to give her criminal grandson a chance to escape would be a hard autopsy for her to do.

Alfred Lord Tennyson, from "Rizpah"

Anything fallen again? may-what was there left to fall?  
I have taken them home, I have number'd the bones, I have hidden them all.  
What am I saying? and what are _you_? do you come as a spy?  
Falls? what falls? who knows? As the tree falls so must it lie.

An MDPD speedboat cut through the waters. Horatio and Eric watched the dark shadow of Don Garcia's boat appear and disappear between the flashes of waves. They pulled up beside it.

"It's empty!"

Horatio jumped across the space between the boats. On the other side, Don Garcia's face, hidden behind a scuba mask, looked back at him for an instant before disappearing under the water.

"He's making a swim for it. Eric…"

"I'm on it." He'd brought scuba gear in case there was a shootout on the water and he had to recover the suspect's body. He quickly strapped on an oxygen tank and face mask and dove off the boat.

The water here was about twelve meters deep. The floor was choked in sea grasses, and visibility was relatively good. Eric spotted Garcia swimming away into the green fog of the ocean.

"Visual contact with suspect. I'm in pursuit," he reported over his headset.

"_Okay. Be careful, Eric. This man is desperate and capable of anything," _Horatio reminded him.

Eric had always loved swimming. It felt a little bit like flying to him, liberating and exciting. The ocean was _his _realm, and he was sure he would take Don Garcia down here.

Murasaki Shikibu:

Mine it shall be, rich as the grasses beneath  
The fathomless sea, the thousand-fathomed sea.

"When did you last hear from him? Of course. Yeah, let me know as soon as you find out anything." Calleigh closed her phone, then took a deep breath, covering her eyes with one hand.

Natalia saw her from the next room of the house, pulled off her gloves, and went to see what was wrong.

"Hey. You okay?"

"Yeah." She quickly dropped her hand. "I just got a call from Horatio. Donald Garcia had scuba gear on his boat and he tried to escape underwater, and Eric went after him, and he must've gone out of range because they've lost radio contact with him."

Intense worry was visible just beneath Calleigh's superficially placid face. Natalia thought about the comment Ryan made a few weeks ago. Maybe there really was something going on between Calleigh and Eric. The reason she'd avoided the gossip about it wasn't because she thought the idea was farfetched (after all, she'd suspected Calleigh had a thing for Eric since just after his shooting), but because it was none of her business.

"I'm sure he's fine," she said comfortingly. "Eric's a really good swimmer."

"Even good swimmers aren't supposed to go in alone, especially with a madman in the water," Calleigh replied. Then she forced a smile and shook her head. "But you're right. It's probably just a problem with his radio equipment. Every available boat is going out there looking for them. He'll be fine."

Tsuki, Manyoshu 3342:

While he lies by the deep sea,  
Poor wife, she looks for his return,  
'To-day, surely to-day.'

Eric had been following the fugitive for several minutes. They were swimming northeast, roughly parallel with the shoreline. He wondered if Garcia had a boat waiting for him or was planning to make his way back to land. He'd heard what happened during the shootout. It made him angry. How could anyone endanger their own grandmother's life like that? What kind of felon would ask their grandmother to shoot at cops while he made a getaway?

Don Garcia abruptly changed his course, swimming toward the seafloor, where he stirred up a cloud of sand, then sank down an escarpment to a kelp grove. Eric followed.

The tall seaweed gave an eerie dimness to the water. Anything could have been hiding in its tangles.

Eric had never been afraid of the water, but he was afraid of the dark. He could hear his heart rate increase as he ventured into the aquatic forest. He released his diving knife from its sheath and looked around, trying to distinguish the shadows of seaweed swaying in the ocean's currents from the movement of living animals.

Murasaki Shikibu:

Not even a boatman driven off course by the winds  
Would wish to make for so untamed a shore.

When they were done processing the house, Natalia followed Calleigh outside to the beachfront. "Any word on Eric?"

Calleigh shook her head. "Still looking."

For a moment, Natalia debated whether to say anything else, then she decided that it was something she and Calleigh should talk about eventually. "I'm sorry. I know how much he means to you."

"What do you mean?"

"You two are close. I understand why you're so worried about him."

"I'm sure you are, too. I know it's been a long time since you and Eric were involved, but those feelings don't just go away just because you break it off with someone, and I imagine Eric's the kind of guy who's hard to get over."

Natalia nodded. Calleigh was trying not to sound like she was digging, but it was obvious. "Yeah, well, Eric and I were never really that serious. And the two of you have been friends for so long, I think that kind of trumps my relationship with him."

Calleigh's eyes were on the ocean. "Do you mind if I ask you something?"

"You want to know why Eric and I didn't work out?"

"Something like that."

"There were lots of reasons. He was the first guy I was…with since the divorce. He was cute, and nice, and the way he looked at me and treated me made me feel like I was irresistible. I wasn't ready for anything serious, and it was pretty obvious that Eric wasn't…the serious type, you know? We agreed that we weren't exclusive. But then there was the pregnancy scare, and suddenly I minded that I was just one of the many women he was seeing at the time. After that, we decided to just be friends, without the benefits. It was just a fling, for both of us, and it made me realize I don't do flings very well."

Calleigh nodded. "So he told you he was seeing other women?"

"Not in those words, but yeah. He's different now, though. I don't think I've noticed him flirt with anyone in…months, at least. I'll tell you one thing, whoever finally catches him will be a lucky lady."

Calleigh didn't say anything after that; she silently gazed out over the gray waves.

Fujiwara no Sada'ie, _Teika-kyo Hyakuban Jika Awase_ 124:

You do not come, and I wait  
On Matsuo beach  
In the calm of evening.  
And like the blazing  
Water, I too am burning.

Not until Eric saw the dark red threads of blood in the water did he fully realize what had happened.

It had been a blur: he'd turned just in time to see Don Garcia come at him from behind a curtain of seaweed, knife in hand. Eric had deflected the knife; he felt it graze his mask, but not with enough force to injure him.

But he was injured. At some point in the wild jabs Garcia had thrown at him, his hand had been cut. But Garcia was worse off. Eric, the more experienced diver, had managed to stab his lower arm, crippling him, and forced him to drop his diving knife.

And now there was blood in the water. Lots of blood.

Eric swam toward the surface. Garcia went down, swimming awkwardly with his right arm cradled against his chest, chasing after the ceramic knife slowly twirling toward the seafloor.

Eric didn't particularly want the convicted violent drug dealer to die, but he wasn't about to risk his life trying to stop him.

Garcia descended until he was a shadow in the thick of the kelp.

And was it only Eric's imagination that there were other shadows down there?

He reached the surface and started treading water. It wouldn't be much safer, but anyone searching for him would have an easier time finding him.

The waves had become choppy. The wind had picked up, and low gray clouds were moving across the sky.

A storm would not be good for his chances of getting out of this.

It wouldn't be a good time to die, Eric considered. He'd just begun a romance with the woman of his dreams. They could have an entire life together ahead of them. The only worse time to die he could imagine was _before_ that happened.

He thought of her, as he floated between the endless ocean and the cloud-choked sky, of how much he wished he could see her again.

V.R. Lang, from "A Lovely Song for Jackson":

If I were a seaweed at the bottom of the sea,  
I'd find you, you'd find me.  
Fishes would see us and shake their heads  
Approvingly from their submarine beds.  
Crabs and sea horses would bid us glad cry,  
And sea anemone smile us by.  
Sea gulls alone would wing and make moan,  
Wondering, wondering, where we had gone.

Rain began to fall in fat, fast drops. Calleigh cursed it silently.

She had joined the search by volunteering to be a lookout in one of the helicopters that patrolled the city. Technically, they were looking for an escaped convict as well as a missing police officer, but everyone knew what the priority was.

"Visibility is getting low. We should head back," the pilot informed her.

"Just a few more minutes," she said without taking her eyes off the ocean out the window. It was hard to see through the gray rain, and every crinkle in the waves below looked like a human form for an instant, and then it would shift and vanish.

Lightning flashed in the clouds above. She prayed it wouldn't strike near wherever Eric was.

Another flash. This one brighter. There was a dark speck in the water.

"Get lower!" she shouted at the pilot. "I see something!"

The helicopter tilted and lowered toward the water.

Calleigh closed her eyes as her body was struck by a wave of disappointment so intense it was physically painful: it was only a patch of sargassum churning in the storm-lashed sea.

Walt Whitman, from "Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking":

_O night! do I not see my love fluttering out among the breakers?  
What is that little black thing I see there in the white?_

_Loud! Loud! Loud!  
Loud I call to you, my love!_

_High and clear I shoot my voice over the waves,  
Surely you must know who is here, is here,  
You must know who I am, my love._

The waves flew past the MDPD speedboat. Horatio leaned against the front edge, scanning the water with binoculars.

The rain had stopped as abruptly as it began. Now the sea rolled under a sky of twilight clouds.

Suddenly he pointed. "There!" he shouted over the roar of the engine.

The boat changed direction and slowed as it approached the arm waving above the ocean waves. Horatio reached out and clasped Eric's arm, then helped him clamber into the boat.

Eric pulled off his mask. "Thanks."

"Donald Garcia?"

"I lost sight of him. He was injured pretty bad; I don't think he'll get very far."

"You're injured," Horatio noted.

He nodded. "He came at me with a knife."

Horatio radioed the other searchers that Eric had been recovered safely and the search was still on for the fugitive. He honestly didn't care if they found Garcia alive or dead. "Get us back to shore," he instructed the pilot.

Eric looked toward land with a tired, eager face as they picked up speed.

Basho, trans. Jonathan Clements:

The sea is wild  
And all the way to Sado island  
The River of Heaven

Calleigh watched from the pier as the lights of the boat approached.

Horatio noted without surprise the way Eric's eyes locked on Calleigh, and how she kept her hand on his arm after helping him off the boat.

"Eric, you're hurt," she said, noticing his hand, which was wrapped in gauze from the boat's first aid kit.

"Diving accident," he replied facetiously.

"A diving accident involving Donald Garcia's knife," Horatio said. "Eric needs to get that checked out. Could you get him to the hospital please."

"It's fine, really," Eric insisted.

"You should get it looked at, anyway," Calleigh said. "Please. For my peace of mind?"

Eric rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but smile. She knew he couldn't say no when she appealed to his concern for her. "Okay."

Horatio nodded to himself. The exchange only confirmed what he had already been suspecting.

Calleigh led Eric toward her car, but as soon as they were alone, she turned toward him and they embraced. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah." He closed his eyes as he held her. "For while there, I was worried I might never see you again."

"I'm just glad you're okay," she replied, not wanting to admit she'd been afraid of the same thing. "Come on. Let's get your arm taken care of."

Sara Teasdale:

I would live in your love as the sea-grasses live in the sea,  
Borne up by each wave as it passes, drawn down by each wave that recedes;  
I would empty my soul of the dreams that have gathered in me,  
I would beat with your heart as it beats, I would follow your soul as it leads.


	76. Ukifune

Sources: _The Tale of Genji; 100 Poems from the Japanese; Kokinshu; Immortal Poems of the English Language; Manyoshu; Love Poems._

Chronology: "Smoke Gets in Your CSIs"

Ise, _Kokin Rokujo, Zoku Kokka Taikan _372960:

The rumors are thick as the sea grass the fishermen gather.  
It matters not, for we do so love each other.

"Do you realize that you drive like a madwoman?"

Calleigh didn't think Ryan's observation was entirely justified, but she would admit she'd been going a bit over the speed limit, and had been a little distracted. "Well, if you don't like it, next time you drive."

"I will. So, uh, what is going on between you and Eric, by the way?"

"What are you talking about?" she asked, trying to sound innocent.

"Come on, Calleigh. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

Of course she knew.

For months now, she'd been trying to sort out her feelings for Eric, and ascertain his real feelings for her. She'd subtly tried to ask him out, assured him he could talk to her about anything, even dropped hints about flowers. She was beginning to get frustrated with him.

Even so, it wasn't to spite him that she went horseback riding with Terrence. He was charming. She was free. It was fun. When she saw Eric had tried calling her, she figured he would have left a message if it was important.

No, that wasn't exactly true. She figured he'd called her because he'd been ready to talk, and if she called him back he might not be.

So when she saw the box of truffles on her table the next morning, she'd known exactly who they were from.

She hadn't known exactly what to say when she saw him later that morning. It was an expensive gift, and it shocked her a little. She'd thanked him, insisted on sharing it with him, and asked where he'd gotten it.

"I have my sources," he replied, smiling but not looking at her.

She waited for him to say something more. He looked like he was about to; he bit his lip, stared at the floor, took a deep breath.

Ryan had walked in at that moment. "Hey Eric, we got a call-out." He noticed the glances they both gave him, and the box of truffles on the table between them. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No," Eric said quickly. He didn't want rumors to spread that could hurt Calleigh's career…no matter how much he personally wished they were true. He left without another word to her.

As they were walking out of the lab after work that day, she asked him, "What were you going to say earlier, before Ryan walked in?"

"Just that…you know I respect you. I really appreciate you. I want you to know that. I wasn't trying to buy your affection or anything like that."

She waited for a few seconds. When he didn't add anything, she said, "I really respect and appreciate you, too. Nothing will ever change that."

He looked at her for a moment. He wanted to kiss her. He always did at moments like these, but it wasn't a good place or time to kiss her. It wasn't a good _idea _to kiss her. And it wasn't what he wanted most, he realized. Selfishly, what he wanted more was for her to be the one to kiss him, so he could know for sure that she wanted to. He'd made his feelings clear; the next move was hers. "I'll see you tomorrow, Calleigh."

"Yeah. Goodnight, Eric."

Something changed after that day. Something changed in Calleigh. It wasn't that she'd made up her mind about Eric, but she found she was always thinking about him. She didn't see Terrence again.

But she wasn't about to give Ryan any reason to think there was more going on than there was. Not that it was any of his business. "Oh please," she said to him. "Give it a rest."

Otomo no Sakanoe, _Manyoshu_ 688:

Do not smile to yourself  
Like a green mountain  
With a cloud drifting across it.  
People will know we are in love.

Eric should have insisted she go to the hospital. He still remembered with agony the death of Connie Wilkes, and he knew from that case that the effects of smoke inhalation could show up hours later. But Calleigh had seemed fine. And maybe he thought of her as invulnerable.

When she began coughing uncontrollably during an interrogation, when she told him she couldn't breath, he'd started to panic. He had no idea what to do. He held her, brushed the hair out of her face, felt her body spasm with each cough.

It seemed like an eternity for the ambulance to arrive.

He rode in the ambulance with her. The case was forgotten.

Alexx met them as soon as they arrived at the hospital. "I heard she was en route; what happened?"

"There was a fire this morning. She was fine at the scene, and then just crashed."

"Smoke inhalation's a quick-change artist. Patient seems fine initially and then crashes. We need to intubate her. Stay with me, Calleigh."

Eric followed them, lost. She was all he could think about. "Be careful with her!" he shouted at the doctors and nurses frantically trying to save her life.

"Eric, let us do our jobs."

When one of the doctors jabbed a large needle in her wrist, Eric asked, "Why don't you do that in her arm, like normal? That looks like it hurts."

"We need arterial blood. Elbow vein doesn't have that," she explained.

Eric watched the doctors and nurses swarm around Calleigh, taking readings, talking to each other in clipped shorthand, without comprehending what they were doing. He felt like he was in a nightmare.

"What's the oxygen saturation?"

"Seventy-nine percent."

Eric didn't like the look on Alexx's face when she heard that. "How bad is that, Alexx?"

"Very. We have good airway, but the oxygen can't get to her blood; alveoli must be damaged."

"What about hyperbaric therapy?" asked one of the assistants.

"No, we don't have time to set that chamber. We gotta do something now. Give her nitric oxide."

"You wanna sedate her?" Eric asked.

"Not _nitrous _oxide. _Nitric. _Selectively increases blood flow to the alveoli, allowing for more oxygenation. Eric, _please, _I need for you to leave so I can _focus._ Gena, NO, right now." Alexx leaned over the tabled and spoke soothingly to the patient, the tone Eric had heard her take while speaking to corpses on her table.

"Stay with me," she implored. "Stay with me."

There was a hand on his arm, trying to pull him away. Eric left like a sleepwalker.

Kakinomoto no Hitomaro, _Shuishu_ 853:

A small boat caught in reeds as it makes for shore,  
I vainly seek to wait upon my love.

Calleigh was stabilized for the moment, resting in a hospital bed. Eric was allowed to return to her side.

Alexx looked at him as he stared at the patient. He loved her; that was obvious. She wished she could say something encouraging, but she'd never been good at lying. Calleigh's chances weren't good. "She's a fighter, Eric," was all she could manage.

"What's happening to her?"

She explained as gently as she could that the alveoli in Calleigh's lungs had been severely damaged by the smoke. The nitric oxide that was allowing her to breathe for now couldn't keep her alive indefinitely.

Eric nodded, but she wasn't sure he understood, or even heard. "What can I do?"

"Stay with her, Eric. A familiar presence will be good for her." The truth was she thought Eric should stay for his own sake more than Calleigh's: as much as it would hurt him to be there if she slipped away, it would hurt him more if he weren't.

When Alexx left, Eric stayed at Calleigh's bedside, looking at the breathing tube coming out of her mouth. He didn't touch her. Not knowing how she felt about him, he wasn't sure if Calleigh would approve of even such minor physical contact as holding her hand. He wouldn't try until she woke up.

She _would_ wake up. He wouldn't let himself consider the alternative.

Remembering how comforting her voice had been when he woke up in the hospital, he spoke to her. "Hey, Cal. It's me. I don't know if you can hear me." What else could he say? He repeated what Alexx had told him, feeling like a helpless child in the face of something he didn't understand and couldn't hope to fix. "You just gotta get that PEEP number down to four, 'kay?." He smiled unsteadily and tried to sound encouraging. "You're gonna get through this. 'Kay? I know you will. You have to." He tried to make a joke, to trivialize the seriousness of the situation and the devastation he would feel if he lost her. "I can't imagine going to work without you." And then he lost any trace of levity. "I can't imagine living my life without you."

This he spoke quietly, just above a whisper. The truth of those words jarred him. Could he even breathe without her?

John Keats, from "The Eve of St. Agnes":

And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake!  
Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite:  
Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake,  
Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache.

Eric didn't even think of leaving her side until Ryan called him, telling him the dead man from the house may have been a doctor at that same hospital. He said he'd check it out.

After hanging up, Eric looked down at Calleigh for a long moment, trying to work up the willpower to leave her side. Remembering the silver cross he'd found in his hand when he woke up in the hospital, he decided to leave her a token to let her know he'd been there. The only thing he could think of that he had with him was his watch.

Her wrist had never seemed so delicate and fragile before, he thought as he tightened his watchband around it.

As he left the room, he couldn't escape the thought that this could be the last time he saw her alive.

Lady Kasa, Manyoshu 594:

In the loneliness of my heart  
I feel as if I should perish  
Like the pale dew-drop  
Upon the grass of my garden  
In the gathering shades of twilight.

Calleigh blinked her eyes open and looked around the hospital room. She was alone. She'd been sure she heard Eric's voice. Had she dreamed those words?

There was something on her wrist. She lifted it and recognized Eric's watch. She touched it, as though to make sure it was real, as tenderly as if the watch face were the face of a lover.

Eric's watch. Warmth spread through her at the thought. It wasn't too late.

A few minutes later, a nurse checked in on her. "You're awake. I'll let Dr. Woods know."

Alexx entered the room a minute later. Calleigh tried to smile at her, but the breathing tube in her throat gagged her.

Alexx looked over the readings on the monitor. "You're improving faster than expected. I bet you're ready to get that thing out," she remarked, smiling broadly.

Calleigh answered her with a nod.

Alexx watched Calleigh's breathing closely as the tube was eased out. She weakly returned Alexx's smile.

"How are you feeling, honey?"

"Thirsty," she answered in a voice almost unintelligibly low and hoarse.

Alexx brought her a cup of water. She sipped it carefully.

"Now don't go trying to breath any more fire for a while. You had Eric worried sick about you."

"Eric?"

"He had to be dragged away from you when you came in. He didn't want to leave your side." She leaned closer, and said in a confidential whisper, "It's plain as day he's crazy about you."

"Could you let him know I want to see him, when he comes back?" Calleigh requested.

Her tender smile grew. "Of course."

Ise, Kokinshu 920:

were you only a  
boat drifting on the waters  
of my pond then I  
could order you to rest here  
weighing anchor for the night

Some time later, Calleigh was roused by the shuffle of the curtains surrounding her hospital bed. Her eyes opened to the beautiful sight of Eric's face. She smiled. "Hey."

He stood for a moment just looking at her, overjoyed that she was awake. "Hey." He moved to the side of her bed and took her hand. "Yeah, I, um, I put my watch on you so you would know I was here, in case you woke up while I was out on the investigation."

She kept smiling at him. "I knew you were here."

"How did you know I was here? You could…" His smile faltered. "Could you hear me? You heard what I said?" he asked with a mix of fear and hope.

"Yeah."

He swallowed nervously. She'd heard him confess his feelings for her. Did she like what she'd heard?

"It was like a dream."

She sounded happy. Exhausted, but happy.

"It was real," he promised her.

Her eyes stayed fixed on his face. Was this how he had felt when he woke up in the hospital to the sound of her voice? He was the most beautiful thing she could imagine, and she was almost afraid to look away. She was in love with him; at this moment she was sure of it. And moreover, it didn't feel like something new, just something the clarity brought by her brush with death had forced or allowed her to accept.

"Will you stay with me?" she softly asked.

The question was heavy with connotations, Eric sensed. She wasn't just asking him to stay near her in the hospital, she was asking him to be with her.

"No," he joked.

She laughed silently. He could barely breathe for the happiness that filled him at the sight of that smile.

He sat down in the chair next to her bed, still holding her hand. "As long as you want me to." But his doubts still nagged him. He didn't want Calleigh to be with him if it wasn't what she really wanted; that was why, after all, he'd been so hesitant to share his feelings with her: he didn't want her to feel pressured into any kind of relationship with him. He loved her too much for that. And so he meekly added, "Only if you want me to."

She rolled her eyes at his doubt. But of course it was understandable that he would have trouble believing that the woman he loved had not only recovered from a nearly fatal trauma, but seemed to return what he'd long thought were unrequited feelings.

They let silence fall over them for a long moment. Calleigh was already exhausted from the effort of speaking, so was choosing her words carefully. "I want you to," she whispered.

Eric leaned closer. "Calleigh, I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier, how I felt. But I want you to know." He paused. He didn't want to tell her he was in awe of her, that he was crazy about her, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. It was too soon for any of that. He didn't want to scare her away now, when they were so close. "You're the most incredible person I've ever met. You're the smartest, toughest, most loyal…your dedication to your work, your integrity, your beauty…God, your beauty. I can't get over it. I can't get over you. And when I thought…when I thought I might lose you today, I couldn't stand it. " He took a deep breath. "Cal, it's a privilege to work with you, to be your friend. But what I want…is to be more." He nervously continued. "I know how you feel about dating a coworker, but if you give me a chance…if it works out, I can switch to the night shift. And if it doesn't work out…I'll always be your friend, Calleigh. I promise that."

She gazed at him. "I believe you, Eric." Her eyes drifted closed. "I trust you so much."

"Shh," he said, worried by the exhaustion in her voice. "We can talk about this later. You need to rest."

"Thank you," she whispered before falling asleep.

He wondered what she was thanking him for.

Robert Graves:

She tells her love while half asleep,  
In the dark hours,  
With half-words whispered low:  
As Earth stirs in her winter sleep  
And puts out grass and flowers  
Despite the snow,  
Despite the falling snow.


	77. The Tattoo

Sources: _Tales of Ise_; _Love Poems of Ancient Egypt,_ trans. Ezra Pound and Noel Stock_._

Chronology: Late Season 7

Tales of Ise 22:

Were we to make  
A thousand autumn nights  
Into one,  
There would still be things to say  
At cockcrow.

Eric would never get tired of waking up next to Calleigh.

The sun had just risen; its fresh light filled the room, but it would still be several minutes before the alarm clock would ring.

The covers had fallen off the bed at some point, and they'd fallen asleep without them. Nothing stood between Calleigh's skin and the morning air. Eric couldn't help but stare. He took the opportunity to examine her tattoo. He'd always wondered about it, ever since Speedle told him she had one. He'd seen it for the first time the first night they'd been together, a splash of color on her right hip, but he hadn't been able to get a good look at it.

"Are you looking at my tattoo?" she asked groggily.

He smiled. "I didn't know you were awake."

"I can't guarantee that I am."

He shifted to the top of the bed, ran his hand over her hair, and kissed her.

When he drew back, leaning on his elbow and gazing down at her, she opened her eyes and smiled. "So are you gonna ask?"

"Cal, why do you have a tattoo of an alligator?"

She smiled shyly. "You want the short answer or the long answer?"

"The long one. I want to know every detail."

"It's going to sound silly."

"Just tell me," he teased.

She sat up, a somber air came over her. She fixed her eyes on the glowing numbers of her alarm clock. "There was a case I worked with Speedle. It was three months after I first came to Miami. The vic's name was Daniel Juan Ibarra. He was shot in a stolen car, single bullet to the head. He had a record for drug dealing. We found his cell phone under the car seat. The last number he dialed was 911, but he never had the chance to hit 'send'. GSR on the dashboard showed the gun was shot from the passenger seat, but there wasn't any fingerprint or DNA evidence of anyone in the car besides Ibarra and the car's owner, Arnold Wagner. We could not find anything, not so much as an eyelash, that pointed to anyone else being in that car."

"So you suspected the owner?"

She nodded. "We couldn't get a warrant for his house, so we had Detective Sevilla suggest to him rather strongly that maybe we did have a warrant and we were gonna search his house that night. Then we watched him. He left the house and buried something in a nearby park. We dug it up, and guess what: it was the gun."

"So you had him."

"We had him for Ibarra's murder. But that wasn't the end of it. Turns out, Mr. Wagner had a lot of guns, some of them not even legal in this country. And we found evidence that he'd tried to hire Ibarra for something, a job that Ibarra initially accepted, but then when he found out what it would involve, he tried to run. That's when Wagner killed him."

"What was the job?"

"All we knew about it at that point was an address, a pier in Coral Gables. Speed and I went with Sevilla to check it out. It was a warehouse on the pier. While Sevilla called to get a warrant, Speed and I decided to take a look around the building's perimeter."

"Speedle decided that?"

"Okay, I decided to take a look around. But Speed wouldn't let me go alone, so..."

"Right. What did you find?"

"Guns. Lots of guns. They were unloading them from a barge. We were gonna sneak away and wait for backup, but we were spotted. They found our badges and took our guns. They would've killed us right there if they weren't worried about someone hearing and reporting the shots. Two guards marched us onto a boat. They were focusing more on Speedle than me; they thought he was more of a threat. So when I saw an opening, I grabbed the weapon from the guard closer to me - a BARZ submachine gun - and shot the other one. He fell into the water." She took a deep breath. "Backup arrived about then. There was a brief standoff before the smugglers surrendered. The only casualty was the man I shot. His body washed up the next day. He was identified as twenty-three-year-old Dmytro Sewick. He had a wife and baby. It was the first time I'd ever used deadly force."

"If you hadn't, you and Speedle would've been killed."

"Maybe. I kept telling myself that. And I still can't think of anything I would've done different. But it still bothered me."

"So you got a tattoo?"

"Yeah. A tattoo of an alligator, an animal that has to kill to survive, and to maintain balance in its ecosystem. That doesn't make it bad - misunderstood sometimes, like any predator, dangerous, requiring respect, but necessary. It made me feel better. I mean, I'd wanted to get a tattoo for a while, I just couldn't decide what, and then that happened and this just felt right."

Eric touched the tattoo. It was a juvenile alligator: dark green with yellow stripes, swimming through turquoise ripples with light green lily pads and yellow waterlilies providing the border of the tattoo.

"You think it's weird," she said in embarrassment, shifting away.

"No. I think it's...I admit, an alligator's not something I would've ever associated with you, but I like it."

She turned to face him. "Really?"

He chuckled. "Of course. I can't help but love everything about you." His fingers traced lightly over the tattoo, eliciting a smile.

She playfully swatted his hand. "Don't be starting that. We have to get ready for work."

He got out of bed and headed to the bathroom for his morning shower. He recalled Speedle telling him about that case, though he'd apparently remembered it a little differently. He'd given the impression that he and Calleigh had everything under control the whole time, and shooting the guard hadn't phased her in the least.

He still had so much to learn about Calleigh. And the more he learned, the more he admired her.

Love Lyrics II:

Nothing, nothing can keep me from my love  
Standing on the other shore.  
Not even old crocodile  
There on the sandbank between us  
Can keep us apart.

I go in spite of him,  
I walk upon the waves,  
Her love flows back across the water,  
Turning waves to solid earth  
For me to walk on.

The river is our Enchanted Sea.


	78. Unexpected Company

Sources: _Tales of Ise_; _The Tale of Genji_.

Chronology: late Season 7.

Tales of Ise 94:

One should love  
According to one's station  
For bitter it is indeed  
To join the extremes  
Of high and low.

There was definitely someone in the kitchen.

Calleigh had said she was going to stay late at work to finish up a case. Eric had gone to the gym, and then to her house. He planned to surprise her by making dinner, but first he took a shower. He heard the noise as soon as he turned off the water.

He hadn't expected her back so soon. But who else could it be?

Since he first found out the Russian Mob was after him, Eric had worried that Calleigh would get caught up in it. He'd told her as much at the time of their first kiss. He'd thought he was in the clear by now, but every unfamiliar car at the side of the road or creak in the night made his heart skip a beat.

He wrapped a towel around his waist, bent down to where his pants lay in a heap on the floor, and slowly removed his gun from its holster.

If it were Calleigh in the kitchen - and he was almost sure it probably was - she would appreciate his prudence. If not, he would be prepared.

The sounds from the kitchen continued as Eric quietly made his way down the hall. That was reassuring: they must have heard the shower turn off, and if they weren't supposed to be there, they either would have left quickly or grown silent to lie in wait.

He was steps away from the kitchen.

"Thought I'd pay you a surprise visit, Lambchop. Hope you don't mind I let myself in."

Eric froze in the door as Kenwall "Duke" Duquesne turned and also froze upon finding another CSI in his daughter's house, wearing nothing but a towel and holding a gun.

Duke recovered first. "Mr. Delko. Didn't expect to find _you _here."

"Yeah." Eric thought fast. "My apartment's being renovated, and Cal's letting me crash on her couch for a few days. Sorry I startled you. Uh, Calleigh's still at work. She should be back in about an hour, I think."

"Well I'll just make myself at home until then. Sorry for walking in all unannounced."

Eric retreated quickly. He returned a minute later fully dressed. "Sorry about that. Can I get you some…coffee? Or juice?"

"I'm just fine, thank you," said the man Eric thought of as his possible future father-in-law. "Why don't you sit down and talk a spell?"

With a feeling in his gut like a defendant in a murder trial waiting on the jury, Eric took a seat in the sofa across from Mr. Duquesne. "I'm sure Calleigh will be happy to see you. How long are you in town?"

"A couple of days. There's an old buddy of mine who needs some legal consultation, so I offered up my services. Always happy to help an old friend. Does Calleigh let you stay over a lot?"

"When I need a place. Your daughter is very generous."

"I'm sure she is. D'you mind if I ask you something, young man?"

"Sure." He smiled nervously. "What?"

"I might be just a simple country gentleman, but I'm not blind. Don't think for a minute I haven't noticed the looks the boys have been giving my little Lambchop since she set foot in junior high. I warned her about those boys. They might act all innocent, but you can bet nine times out of ten they've got an ulterior motive. Am I right?"

Eric tried to hold his smile and find something safe to say. "Good thing you taught her how to look out for herself."

"I told her whenever one of those boys asked her to do something, she should think about her future. With how beautiful, intelligent, and refined she is, Calleigh could really go places in the world. She could've married some wealthy bachelor and not had to lift a finger for the rest of her life."

"But she would've been bored out of her mind if she did that," Eric tried to joke.

"True, but it never hurts to know you'll be taken care of when you need it. She's really special, and she deserves someone really special."

Eric raised his eyebrows. It was a struggle to keep his polite smile from slipping away. "I completely agree. Cal's an incredible person."

"So tell me, young man, how many nights were you planning on spending on her couch before you made a move on her?"

This was what Eric had been dreading. "Sir, I have enormous respect for your daughter. I would never do anything to hurt my friendship with her."

"Son, I'm a defense attorney. I know when someone's avoiding a question when I hear it."

Eric froze for a moment. He didn't want to lie, and didn't think he could be convincing if he tried, so he instinctively launched a counter-attack. "Let me ask_ you_ a question: are you bothered by the thought of me being with Calleigh because I'm a cop, or because I'm Cuban?"

Mr. Duquesne's smile was a little too quick for Eric's comfort. "I'm just looking out for my little girl's happiness."

"And now _you're _avoiding _my _question."

"Neither, of course. But - now I don't know a lot about your background, but it's not hard to tell you and her are coming from very different places, and that can make things tough."

Eric swallowed, unable to think of a retort. The class difference between himself and Calleigh was a sore spot for him. He had seen how comfortable she'd been among million-dollar horses and their owners when they investigated the murder at the racetrack, where he had felt very out of place. That was one reason seeing the pictures of her horseback riding with Terrence had stung: it was part of her world he couldn't share with her.

And then Duke went too far. "I just don't want her to get hurt," he added.

"Look, Mr. Duquesne, I know that you never raised a hand to Calleigh or her mother, but when it comes to men who've hurt her you might want to look in a mirror."

The smile on Duke's face froze in place.

Eric instantly regretted saying something so harsh. He knew Calleigh adored her father, in spite of his faults. It was to be closer to him that she moved to Miami in the first place. It just made him so angry to think of how much pain he'd put Calleigh through by not seeking help for his addiction. So he continued. "Yeah, Calleigh's all the things you said, and more. In case you're wondering, yes, I'm in love with her. I know you think she's too good for me, and maybe she is. You're lucky to have her for a daughter, 'cause she'll always be your daughter no matter what, and she's been a better daughter to you than you deserve. I'll never take her for granted. I never have. Can you say that much?"

For a moment his expression looked angry, then hurt, then blandly polite, and Eric realized where Calleigh got her remarkable skill at hiding her real feelings. For the first time he picked up on a family resemblance between this washed-up alcoholic lawyer and the woman he admired and all but worshiped. "You know, I think I will take you up on that offer of coffee."

Eric's eyes were fixed on him as he slowly stood up. Then he turned and stalked to the kitchen.

When he returned a few minutes later, his temper had cooled. He set a mug in front of Duke. "Want some milk or sugar with that?"

"A little of both would do."

They didn't talk for a minute. Eric broke the silence. "I'm sorry about what I said before. I know Calleigh really...I know she really cares about you, really respects you. And I know you love her. I didn't mean..."

"Tell you what, how 'bout we just forget the whole thing ever happened."

Eric hesitantly nodded, even though he knew that wouldn't happen. There was another long moment of silence.

"So you're really in love with my Calleigh?"

"Yes. Very."

"Well," he smiled, "good to have that cleared up. Just make sure you understand something: Calleigh's still my little girl, and maybe I haven't always done right by her, but I've always tried to look out for her, and I always will. So if you do anything to hurt her, I will shoot you, represent myself in court, and get off on justifiable. You understand?"

"If I ever hurt Calleigh, I'm sure she'd shoot me herself."

Mr. Duquesne laughed. "And she wouldn't miss, either."

After a few seconds, Eric laughed too.

The front door opened a minute later. Calleigh walked in and smiled in pleased surprise. "Dad. What are you doing here?"

"I was just in town and thought I might stop by for a visit."

"You should've let me know you were coming. I would've been home earlier. And Eric, I didn't know you were coming over tonight."

"I was going to surprise you, but then I was the one who got the surprise."

She smiled. "Well, I hope ya'll weren't too bored while you were waiting up for me."

"'Course not, Lambchop. Your new boyfriend was just telling me how lucky he is to have you, and I was agreeing."

"Didn't I tell you he was smart, Dad?" she joked. "Now, I am starving so I'm gonna go get some dinner whipped up." She gave her father a warm hug and peck on the cheek and Eric a quick kiss before proceeding to the kitchen.

Eric and Duke exchanged a wary glance.

Had Calleigh told her father she was dating someone? If so, why had he pretended not to know? One thing Eric was sure about: whether they would end up being friends or enemies, the Kenwall Duquesne was someone he should not underestimate.

Fujiwara Kanesuki, _Gosenshu _1103:

The heart of a parent is not darkness, and yet  
He wanders lost in thoughts upon his child.


	79. Glittering

Sources: Donald Keene's _Japanese Literature_; _No Bliss Like This, _ed. Jill Hollis

Chronology: Soon.

Donald Keene:

What use are riches when you diamonds,  
Rubies and gold are dross.

Had Horatio given the two of them this assignment on purpose? Eric wondered as he examined the glass of the display case that had contained twenty-four diamond rings before the heist that morning.

"Okay, the security camera shows the first suspect looking at the jewelry in this case," Calleigh indicated a case of platinum wedding rings before pointing toward the one Eric was examining, "before asking the attendant to open that one. And then he waved his hand, and the second suspect, who was standing over here by the sapphires, pulled out the gun. Suspect Number One was careful not to touch anything, but Suspect Number Two touched the back of one of these pendants." She stepped toward a rack of gold necklaces and flipped to the next picture in the stack of stills taken from the security footage.

"Can you tell which one?"

"Just a minute." She opened her kit and pulled out a magnifying glass, then examined the photo, her eyebrow scrunched in concentration. "One, two, three, four, five, six." Then she looked back up at the necklaces. "This one," she said, pointing to a star sapphire encircled by diamond accents.

Eric came up beside her and looked at the gold pendant as she held it gingerly but steadily between her gloved fingers. "Partial, but distinct. I think we should take it back to the lab to lift it."

"Good idea." Calleigh picked up her camera to photograph it.

"Think Suspect Number One is gonna make it?" Eric asked as he carefully placed the necklace in an evidence envelope.

"The doctor made it sound about fifty-fifty. Didn't think it even crossed his mind his partner would turn on him as soon as they got the goods."

"How much were the rings they stole worth?"

"Retail value was almost a quarter of a million."

Eric shook his head. "Not worth a life."

"No, it's not."

"You know," he remarked as he looked over the white-gold rings in one of the untouched display cases, "the trend of buying diamond engagement rings was just made up by the De Beers company in 1938 to increase their sales."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Before that, most people just had a plain gold wedding ring."

"That's interesting. It makes sense; most people didn't have the expendable income to afford jewelry like this. You know, I had a friend in college who made her fiance return the ring when she found out how much he paid for it. He ended up getting her one with a green garnet instead. Garnet was her birthstone and green was her favorite color."

She continued photographing the scene. Eric lifted some prints off the inside of a display case.

"So what do you think?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant. "If you got married, would you want a diamond, or something...less traditional."

She looked toward him; he remained intently bent over the glass, pretending he was just making casual conversation.

"I don't know, I never really thought about it." She recalled the diamond engagement ring Jake had sprung on her. "I guess I'd want something more unique. But, you know, it really doesn't matter what the ring looks like, as long as it comes with a man who cares about what I want enough to ask."

His face cracked into a broad smile. She was smiling too.

They both continued working like nothing had happened.

Juliana Horatia Ewing, "Gifts":

You ask me what since we must part  
You shall bring back to me.  
Bring back a pure and faithful heart  
As true as mine to thee.

You talk of gems from foreign lands,  
Of treasure, spoil, and prize.  
Ah love! I shall not search your hands  
But look into your eyes.


	80. Winter

Author's note: Having finally seen the season premiere, I've fixed Chapter 75.

Sources:_ Ogura Hyakunin Isshu, _trans. Clay MacCauley_; No Bliss Like This,_ ed. Jill Hollis; _Kokinshu._

Chronology: Season 9.

Sakanoue no Korenori, _Hyakunin Isshu _31:

At the break of day  
Just as though the morning moon  
Lightened the dim scene,  
Yoshino's fair hamlet lay  
In a haze of falling snow.

"So this is really the first time you've ever seen snow?" Calleigh asked incredulously as they walked through the snowy park. They had come to Washington, D.C. to attend a conference on innovations in forensic science, and the lecture schedule gave them plenty of free time.

"Really," he confirmed. "Did it ever snow in Louisiana?"

"Every few years, but it never stayed on the ground for long. Not like this." She looked out over the field of white, crisscrossed with footprints. "It's beautiful."

"Yeah. I'd like it better if it were warm, though."

She chuckled. The chill air gave her cheeks and nose a rosy tint.

Eric gazed at her and grinned.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing. I just was thinking that since you know so much about snow, you shoulda known to pack a coat."

She tugged the sleeves of her teal sweater. "You should talk," she said, looking pointedly at his light jacket, more appropriate for a rainy day than a snowy wonderland.

"Hey, I didn't know any better. You don't have that excuse."

She smirked at him, then turned away and walked a little way across the snow, which was about half a foot deep.

Eric smiled after her, then looked over the scene. The trees were bare of leaves; they looked black in stark contrast to the silvery snow and the pale gray sky. A group of children were making a snowman. Small, dark birds darted from tree to ground and back. It seemed like an alien world, like nothing he could even imagine in Miami.

Mary Monk:

As _Corydon_ went shiv'ring by,  
_Sylvia_ a Ball of Snow let fly,  
Which straight a Globe of Fire became,  
And put the Shepherd in a Flame;  
_Cupid_ now break they Darts and Bow,  
_Sylvia_ can all thy Feats out-do,  
Fire us with Ice, burn us with Snow.

"Hey Eric!"

He turned just in time to catch Calleigh's snowball in the shoulder. He stooped to craft a snowball of his own. "You might be a better shot than me with a gun, Cal, but don't forget I played baseball for the 'Canes!"

He stood and lobbed the snowball, which hit her in the chest, in spite of her last-second attempt to dodge it. It exploded in a puff of powder that stuck to her sweater. As she wiped snow-shrapnel off her face, Eric felt sorry for a moment.

"Hey Cal, you okay?" he asked as he walked toward her.

The footprints in the snow briefly reminded him of crime scenes. He was amazed that he hadn't thought of it before. Only she could do this to him, make him forget for even a moment that he solved crimes for a living. That crime even existed.

"Yeah, I'm okay. That was a good shot."

"So was yours."

"Sorry about that, but I just couldn't resist."

"That's okay. Wanna keep going?"

They walked through the park quietly for a few minutes, listening to birds chirping and children laughing. Calleigh couldn't remember the last time she'd been so content. Despite the fact that she was shivering.

She rubbed her hands together briskly. They were unusually pink.

"You cold?" Eric asked.

"Just my hands. That's what I get for throwing the first snowball."

"Here." He turned toward her and took her hands in his. "Is that better?" he asked after a moment.

"Yeah." She carefully lifted her eyes from their hands to his face. "But now my cheeks are cold."

He let go of her hands and cupped her cheeks.

"Anything else?"

"My nose is cold."

He pressed his forehead to hers and rubbed his nose against her nose. "Anything else?" he whispered.

"No," she breathed after a moment's consideration. "I'm warm now. Thank you."

But their lips were already too close. As if magnetically drawn, they touched.

A moment later, they stepped back and gazed at each other. Tiny flecks of snow caught in their hair.

Eric chuckled.

"Now what's so funny?"

"I was just thinking...most people pick warm, sunny places like Miami for vacations, so people who live there all year long might want to go where it's snowing for a vacation or a..." He trailed off, smiling almost shyly.

"Or a what?"

"Never mind." He slipped his hands out of hers and resumed walking.

Calleigh sprinted to catch up with him. "Eric, what were you going to say?"

"Nothing," he laughed. "Just forget it."

And then, somehow, she knew. She smiled and took his arm as they walked.

Fujiwara no Kanesuke, Kokinshu 391:

unfamiliar is  
White Mountain in Koshi where  
my lord goes still I'll  
seek him out following his  
path through the snows to his goal


	81. The Desert

Sources:_ City Lights Pocket Poets Anthology_, ed. Lawrence Ferlinghetti; _The Pillow Book of Sei Shonagon,_ trans. Ivan Morris._  
_

Chronology: Season 9.

Malcolm Lowry, "Death of a Oaxaquenian":

So huge is God's despair  
in the wild cactus plain  
I heard Him weeping there

That I might venture where  
The peon had been slain  
So huge is God's despair

On the polluted air  
Twixt noonday and the rain  
I heard Him weeping there

And felt His anguish tear  
For refuge in my brain  
So huge is God's despair

That it could find a lair  
In one so small and vain  
I heard Him weeping there

Oh vaster than our share  
Than deserts of new Spain  
So huge is God's despair  
I heard Him weeping there...

A thin strip of sunset colored the western sky as Eric approached Horatio's house. His steps slowed the closer he got. He stopped at the door. His hand hovered over the doorbell, then drew back slightly. Summoning a reserve of recklessness, he rang the doorbell, and forced himself to remain there. He knew Horatio was home from the lit window.

Eric felt less and less confident with each passing second, but he had to do this, he had to say something before it went to far.

Finally, the door opened. "Eric," Horatio said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"I wa...I needed to talk to you," he said as firmly as he could.

"Come in."

Eric took a few steps inside the front room before speaking. "I heard about what happened today."

"What are you referring to?"

"You did it again," he said quietly, fixing Horatio with a concerned stare. It was difficult to talk about this. "You arranged to have some time alone with Gregory Mendoza."

"Mr. Mendoza was a suspect."

"He had an alibi for his ex-wife's murder. He shoulda been free to go."

Horatio turned away, hiding whatever emotions might have crossed his face. "That man abused his son."

Eric took a deep breath. "I know. His son was only eight. It was a terrible crime, and Mendoza should be punished for it. But that wasn't the crime we were supposed to be focused on."

"If Mendoza hadn't abused his son, his wife wouldn't have left him, she wouldn't have had to resort to prostitution to support her family, and she would still be alive."

"But Mendoza didn't kill her, not in the eyes of the law. I understand you're mad, but this isn't Rio. You can't keep doing this. You're gonna get caught. And when you do you're not the only one who's gonna pay for it."

Horatio's fists clenched. He had not expected this lecture from Eric, of all people. "My job...is to protect the people of Miami...from criminals like Mendoza."

"You can't do that by breaking the law. Look, H.," he added slowly, "This has been happening more often, and people are gonna start looking into it. I know you feel like you have to do something, but making every abuser pay isn't gonna fix it. I'm saying this as your friend...as your brother. You need to talk to someone."

"Did someone say something to you?"

"You mean IAB? No. To be honest, I'm not sure how many people know what's going on. But you know we're all on your side if the IAB starts asking. That's not what this is about. I know I've got no room to talk, but what we did with Riaz was different. He was gonna get away with it...with killing Mari. And I've felt like hurting people before. I've gotten in fights with people, threatened to kill people. But I lose my temper. This is different. You make sure there are no witnesses, make sure you don't leave visible marks... it's controlled, premeditated. You're better than this, H. It's not your job to make every abuser pay. They're not worth it. Hurting them isn't gonna fix...that you couldn't stop your father."

Horatio turned toward him sharply, angrily. He was about to argue, but when he looked at Eric's determined and sympathetic face, he couldn't deny the truth. He sank to his chair and pressed his forehead to his folded hands. "I could have stopped him," he whispered.

Eric sat down across from him, suddenly fully understanding why Horatio was willing to risk his job and his integrity to hurt abusers: it wasn't that he regretted killing his father after his father killed his mother; he regretted that he didn't kill him _before. _And if he could save an innocent life, he was willing to take a guilty one. Eric understood how he felt, and part of him even agreed with it. But part of him knew better. "Maybe you could have. And maybe he deserved it. But it wouldn't have been worth it. You would have lost yourself in the bargain."

A ragged breath shook Horatio's chest. He buried his face in his hands.

Eric looked down, frowning, trying to find something to say. "I'm sorry."

"You're right," Horatio stated. "I didn't even see it, but you're right. I just...I'm just so tired...of feeling like I failed. Of feeling like this."

"And going after abusers...that helps?" Eric asked uncertainly.

"For a while," he admitted. "But it used to be enough to put criminals away."

"When did that change? When did that stop being enough?"

Horatio didn't answer.

"Was it after Marisol?"

"Maybe," he whispered hoarsely. "I just feel like...I feel so powerless, Eric. I feel useless."

Eric nodded, staring at him. "You know, if it weren't for you I'd be dead. You've saved my life more than once. You've saved a lot of lives. And if it weren't for you, I never woulda become a CSI, so every crime I ever help solve or life I help save is because of you, too. Think about that. That more than makes up for the one you took, and the ones you couldn't save."

Horatio looked up at him, at the man he considered family, who had come here not because he was worried about the people he might hurt, but because he was worried about _him_, because he could see that he was hurting. Then he looked back down at his hands. He'd been taking out his anger on abusers; it dragged him down to their level. Eric was right: it wasn't worth it.

"You can still do a lot of good," Eric continued. "You can still put away the bad guys. But only if you stay on the right side."

Horatio chuckled, even though he was on the verge of tears. "When did you become the voice of reason?"

He smiled. "When my best friend needed me to."

"Thank you. I know how difficult it must have been for you to come here. You don't know how much I needed to hear it. I'm proud of you, Eric."

Eric stood and placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's the least I could do for how many times you've been there for me. I'll always be there for you. Never forget that."

After Eric left, Horatio sat quietly for quite some time, deep in thought.

Taira no Kanemori, _Shuishu_ 251:

Here in my mountain home  
The snow is deep  
And the paths are buried.  
Truly would he touch my heart-  
The man who came today.


	82. Recherché

Sources:_ 1000 Poems from the Manyoshu; __A Book of American Humorous Verse,_ ed. Wallace Rice.

Chronology: Season 9.

Anonymous, Manyoshu 2382:

People throng the sun-lit Palace-road,  
Yet, you - and you alone -  
Are my heart's desire!

Sharply angled evening sunlight cut through the streets of South Beach. A large banner hanging over a doorway pronounced the opening night of the Lion Tamer, Miami's most anticipated new restaurant. The sidewalk in front was crowded with uncommonly well-dressed people. The patrons included some of Miami's wealthiest, and even some celebrities from around the country who had come to Florida specifically for this cuisine.

A blue Camaro pulled up to to curb. A beautiful blond woman in a teal satin dress and black stilettos stepped out of the car. She flashed a dazzling smile at the young valet (who looked appropriately dazzled) as she handed him her keys, then sashayed her way through the crowd. She smiled to herself at the second glances, turned heads, and open stares that followed her progress as she made a beeline toward a handsome Cuban gentleman in a tuxedo, who was seemingly transfixed by her appearance.

"Hey babe," Calleigh greeted him, giving him a quick hello kiss. "You look incredible."

Eric laughed. "You're the one everyone's gawking at. Should I be feeling jealous?"

"Just remember who I'm here for," she replied, taking his arm. "So I've been hearing about this place all month. How did you manage to get a reservation on opening night?"

"I know the head cook, Dominga Neace. We used to go diving together. She goes spear fishing."

"Really? How well did you know her?"

"How well do you think?" he replied suggestively.

"Now you're just trying to make me jealous."

"Is it working?"

The maître d' called for them. "Delko, party of two?"

He led them to a table next to a large fish tank, where small fish, seahorses, and an octopus drifted between waving seaweed. "Will this suit you?"

"Yes. This is great," said Eric. He held Calleigh's chair for her.

"So every dish here is made from lionfish?" she asked, delicately holding the slim menu.

"Yeah. Specifically the red lionfish. It's native to the Pacific, but sometime in the past couple of decades some got loose off the Florida coast, and they've become a big problem in the Atlantic and Caribbean. They eat anything, and not many things can eat them. The idea behind this restaurant is to help control the lionfish population by creating a demand for it as a delicacy. But they'll make any dish with tofu instead if you ask for it."

"They're very pretty," Calleigh commented, looking at a picture of the red and white striped fish with large, fan-shaped fins on the back of the menu.

"They're also dangerous. Their spines are poisonous, to keep predators away. You gotta watch out for them when you're diving."

"But they are safe to eat, right?"

He smiled at her concern. "Yeah, once you get past the spines. I've heard they're really good."

"I guess we're gonna find out."

Eric chose a lionfish fillet basted with lemon and basil, Calleigh ordered lionfish kebabs, and a glass of Riesling each.

"This is really delicious," Calleigh commented after the first bite of tender, sweet fish.

"Try mine." Eric offered her a forkful of fillet, which Calleigh coyly accepted.

"That is good. I don't know which one I like better. Here." She gave him a piece of hers.

"Mm. We definitely have to come back here again."

A short, muscular woman with curly dark brown hair came up to the table. "Eric. I heard you were here."

"Dominga!" He stood up to give her a hug. "We were just saying how great everything tastes."

"I told you I'm good. You didn't believe me?"

He laughed, then gestured to his dinner companion. "This is my girlfriend, Calleigh Duquesne. Calleigh, Dominga Neace."

"Lovely to meet you," the woman said, shaking Calleigh's hand. "I'm the one who cooked what you're eating. There's also a good chance I'm the one who caught what you're eating, so you'd better have nice things to say about it."

"I do. It's fantastic. And it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Eric wasn't kidding about you. He said you were pure sunshine."

Calleigh smiled bashfully at the compliment.

"Well, I have to get back to the kitchen. Enjoy your meal, and leave room for dessert."

"She seems nice," Calleigh commented.

"She is. Most of the time."

"You really called me 'pure sunshine'?"

He tried to hide his grin. "She asked me what you were like, so I told her."

Calleigh laughed, ate a pepper off a kebab, and washed it down with a sip of wine.

Eric reached across the table and lightly her fingertips. A distant smile formed on Calleigh's lips. The food was forgotten for a moment as they focused on the feathery physical contact.

The flash of a camera ended the moment. They glanced over to spot a man they both recognized as a photographer from the Miami Herald. He had either snapped a picture of them or the fish tank behind them, where the octopus was currently climbing up the glass. Either way, they were in the frame.

"He puts that in the paper, and everyone in Miami's gonna know about us," Eric said.

"Yeah," she agreed. "And you know what? I'm okay with that."

He looked back at her. "Really?"

She smiled softly. "Yeah. Fun as it is to pretend we're sneaking around and carrying on a forbidden romance, everyone at work already knows about us, and if IAB was gonna make a big deal, they would have already. And even if they do, we'll work something out. Let's admit it: we're official."

"That's fine with me. As long as you don't mind being seen in public slumming with a guy like me."

She raised an eyebrow. "This is your idea of slumming?" she asked incredulously, gesturing to the posh restaurant they were sitting in.

"Of course not. But we both know you could do better than me."

Her smile had faded from her eyes but she kept it petrified on her lips, pretending she still thought he was joking. "Eric, what are you talking about? You know I've never thought anything like that about you."

He shrugged. "You wouldn't go out with me when I was a towtruck driver."

"Don't you mean 'automotive recovery expert'?" she teased.

He chuckled, but avoided her eyes.

She let her smile go. "You know, Eric, that's really not fair to me. I didn't even know you. And you have to understand, since I was a teen men have been throwing themselves at me. There comes a point where..." She sighed. "You know, I would have been more impressed with you if you_ hadn't _hit on me first thing. I didn't _know_ you."

"You're right," he said quietly. Of course it was unfair of him to ascribe to her prejudices she'd never shown any evidence of holding. What he'd said was just a reflection of his own insecurities. He knew it shouldn't bother him that she came from a wealthier family than he did, or that she made more money than he did. After all, she'd given up whatever class privileges she had to become a cop. But one of the reasons he'd brought her to this restaurant was to demonstrate that he had connections, too. He wanted to prove he could take care of her, even though he knew she'd never ask or expect him to. At any rate, it was a good thing they hadn't dated when they first met; he hadn't been ready, he wouldn't have appreciated her, and he would have done something stupid and lost her. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head and smiled, and took his hand again. "You're wrong, Eric," she said, gazing at him. "I couldn't do better than you. They don't come better than you."

As always, her sunshine smile dispelled any doubts Eric might have harbored about her sincerity.

They ordered a slice of chili chocolate mousse to share for dessert.

Caroline Duer, "A Vignette":

Cupid, playing blindman's-buff,  
Seized my Psyche's floating tresses.  
"Here is silken chic enough  
To dispense with any guesses.  
This is Psyche's golden fleece:  
She's my prisoner past release."  
But the lookers-on declare  
Love was caught in Psyche's hair.


	83. Lagniappe

Sources: _1000 Poems from the Manyoshu_; Cao Xueqin, _A Dream of Red Mansions_, trans. Yang Xianyi and Gladys Yang;_ The Golden Treasury of Poetry, _ed. Louis Untermeyer; _If Not, Winter: Fragments of Sappho_, trans. Anne Carson.

Chronology: Post Season 9.

Anonymous, Manyoshu 3248:

Though there are men without number  
In this fair Land of Yamato,  
My mind ever clings to you  
Like a wistaria-vine,  
My heart ever holds to you  
Like a tender blade of grass,  
And I shall pass this tedious night  
Longing for a sight of you!

Calleigh and Walter had been busy at an arson scene for most of the day, and all of the previous day. They had finally gotten back to the lab, where they were testing clothes and other personal items collected from the employees at the call center that had been the origin of the fire.

She sighed.

"Getting frustrated?" he inquired.

"Hmm?" she glanced up momentarily. "Not really. I'm sure we'll find something here; these twelve people are the only ones who had access to that room."

"Then what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Seriously? Because you look like someone just stole your kitten."

That comment brought a tiny smile to her lips. "It's nothing about this case."

"So what is it?"

"It's silly. I've just been busy with this, and Eric's been working that bank heist in Hialeah, and I haven't even seen him since Tuesday, and that was just for a few minutes in Firearms." She shrugged. "I miss him."

"You're missing him after not seeing him for just two days?"

"I told you it was silly," she said, smiling apologetically.

Walter smirked. "I don't think it's silly. It's cute. Let's get this finished so you two love birds can get back to the nest."

A few minutes later, a cellphone Callegh was examining tested positive for accelerant. "Eureka!"

"Who does that belong to?" Walter asked.

She checked the tag. "Sidney Lee, the assistant manager."

"The one who said he had no idea he was about be fired."

"I guess he lied," she said.

"I'll call Tripp and see what Mr. Lee has to say for himself."

Cao Xueqin:

Boughs with silk floss entwined  
Or sweet mist glimpsed through a half rolled-up blind?  
As slender fingers with the catkins play,  
Cuckoo and swallow cry out in dismay:  
Stop, pray! Do stay!  
Don't let spring steal away.

Calleigh walked out of the lab into the bright, cloudless afternoon a few hours later. The intensity of the blue sky came as a shock to her eyes, and it took her a moment to see that Eric was waiting for her. "Hey," she greeted him happily.

"Hey yourself. I heard you solved that arson case."

She stopped next to him. "The perp practically solved it for us. He thought to throw away his clothes, but didn't even clean his phone. Once Tripp got him in a room with the evidence, he brought in a lawyer to make a deal. He's trying to argue that finding out he was being fired caused temporary insanity."

He smiled at her enthusiasm. "Sounds like it was a good day."

"I'm just glad I'm getting off work on time for once. It's been a long week."

"Yeah." He took her hand. "You wanna grab something to eat?"

"I'm not really that hungry yet."

"We could go for a walk. It's a nice day. There's this park I haven't been to in a while. It's a bit of a drive, but it's worth it."

"Sounds good," she agreed.

Anonymous Gaelic, "The Thrush's Song," trans. W. MacGillivary:

Dear, dear, dear,  
In the rocky glen,  
Far away, far away, far away  
The haunts of men;  
There shall we dwell in love  
With the lark and the dove,  
Cuckoo and corn-rail,  
Feast on the bearded snail,  
Worm and gilded fly,  
Drink of the crystal rill  
Winding adown the hill  
Never to dry.  
With glee, with glee, with glee  
Cheer up, cheer up, cheer up here;  
Nothing to harm us, then sing merrily,  
Sing to the loved one whose nest is near.

The park was nestled between a baseball field, a grove of various tall trees, and a small lake. A path circled a playground, then through a gazebo to a dock. A few ducks and geese were floating on the gently rippling water. Past the gazebo, a smaller path broke off the first and led into the trees.

Within the grove the city seemed to disappear. Its sounds and smells were replaced by the buzz of insects, chirping of birds, and water dripping from leaves. Planks lifted the trail off the boggy ground. The Florida humidity was heavier here, and carried a strong scent of wet dirt and vegetation. Mushrooms poked out of the ground and the trees. It reminded Calleigh of playing in the Louisiana woods as a child. It was calming, relaxing.

But Eric didn't seem relaxed. He'd been unusually silent. He hadn't even been looking at her very much, just sneaking glances every now and then. He was acting nervous, like they were on a first date.

"This place is beautiful," she remarked.

"We're not there yet."

"Where are we going?"

He just smiled.

They walked for another minute or two in silence, enjoying the change of scenery. When they came to a part of the path where a few of the boards had been washed away by a rivulet, Eric jumped the gap, then turned and offered a hand to help her across. "Milady," he said quietly.

She laughed at the comically formal term of endearment he'd never used before, then accepted his hand.

In a few more steps the forest opened up to a marsh at the edge of the lake, crossed by a wooden bridge. Lilypads floated on the water. The sun sparkled on the waves and illuminated the curtains of light purple wisteria hanging from a canopy of vines over the bridge.

Calleigh was struck silent by the sight. Eric observed her reaction from the corner of his eye.

"How did you find this place?" she finally asked.

"I just heard about it," he answered vaguely.

She closed her eyes, leaning against the bridge's railing. "It's so peaceful."

After a long, quiet moment, Eric turned toward her. "There's something I've been wanting to talk to you about."

"What?"

He took a deep breath. "Calleigh, You know how I feel about you. What I want more than anything is for you to be happy. So..." He licked his dry lips.

Calleigh waited expectantly.

"I want you to think about what I have to say, to give it some serious thought. Don't feel like you gotta decide now, or like you have to go with...with what I want."

"Eric, if you're leading up to anything other than asking me to marry you, I'm going to be extremely disappointed."

A small smile and breathy laugh. "Does that mean you'll say yes?"

"Yes."

He exhaled slowly, overcome with happiness and relief. "I would've asked you months ago, but it took me a while to find the perfect ring."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small ring box. But before he could open it, Calleigh grabbed his hands. "Eric," she said softly, amused. "I don't care about the perfect ring. Not when I'm getting the perfect husband."

"Still...I wanted to get one you would like," he joked.

Calleigh opened the ring box and gasped. Yes she had said she didn't care about the ring, and she didn't, but this was the most stunning ring she had ever seen. Set in yellow gold was a brilliant round millennium-cut deep orange-pink padparadscha sapphire, half a centimeter in diameter. Light flashed through it like the rays of a setting sun. A row of dark teal indicolites navettes wrapped around a quarter of the ring, and another curved along the bottom of the sapphire. The two rows rose to meet along the left of the center stone, then merged into a single row angled downward along the top, with tiny diamonds set between them, creating an image of a cresting ocean wave.

"You like it?"

"It's...incredible. Eric, how...how did you..."

"It's custom made. Remember that case a couple of years ago where that gem dealer was suspected of murder?"

"Yeah, and you were the only one who thought she was innocent."

"Well, she was in town, and I asked for her advice, and apparently she felt like she owed me for clearing her, so she helped me find the gems and a good jeweler."

"That was the sick day you took last week?" she jokingly accused.

"I won't make a habit of that."

Her smile grew. "This is amazing, Eric. I've never seen anything like it. I don't know what to say."

He slipped the ring on her finger, then squeezed her hand. He wasn't sure what to say either. He had been planning for this moment so long that now it felt unreal, like another dream. "That's okay."

"I know." She broke her eyes away from the ring and looked into his eyes. When she'd said yes to Jake, there had been fear and uncertainty mixed with her happiness. She didn't feel that now. Here, in this beautiful and peaceful place with no trite romantic dinner, no watching crowd, no pressure, she was completely sure.

That day years ago at the arson scene when Eric took her hand to pull out a sliver of glass..._that's_ what this moment felt like. Just the two of them, and so right...

Suddenly she looked away. Her smile was shy. "Are you completely sure about this, Eric? I don't want to feel like this is something you have to do to keep me. I love you, and I intend to stick with you for the rest of my life, whether we're married or not. You know that, right?"

He chuckled nervously. "That's good to hear. I used to think I never wanted to get married; I didn't understand why it was so important. But then I fell in love with you. I've wanted to marry you for so long, Calleigh. I can't even explain why. I just want for there to be no doubt about where we stand, what you mean to me. I want it to go on record that you're the most important person in my life." He smiled, gazing at her in the soft sylvan light. "And you always will be."

Sappho:

for when I look at you

such a Hermione

and to yellowhaired Helen I liken you

among mortal women, know this  
from every care  
you could release me


	84. Half Light

Sources: _1000 Poems from the Manyoshu; Immortal Poems of the English Language; The Tale of Genji; Only Companion: Japanese Poems of Love and Longing; Great Short Poems.  
_

Chronology: "Man Down"

Anonymous, Manyoshu 3344-5:

When I trusted as one trusts in a great ship,  
That he would come to me this month,  
And I waited for the day,  
A courier brought me word -  
Though vague as a fire-fly's light -  
That he was gone like the autumn leaf.  
Now I tread the earth as flames,  
Standing or sitting I know not where to go;  
Bewildered like the morning mists,  
Vainly I breathe out eight-foot sighs.  
I would, to find him where he lies,  
Wander as a cloud of heaven,  
And die as the stricken deer,  
But, as I do not know the way to him,  
Thus I remain alone and miss him,  
And weep aloud.

When I see the wings of the wild-geese  
Skimming the reedy shore,  
They remind me of the arrows  
He carried on his back.

Horatio called Calleigh from the ambulance. There had been a shoot-out. Eric had been taken two bullets. He was being rushed to emergency.

That was all Horatio could tell her. She could hear the paramedics in the background, frantically working to save Eric.

Calleigh knew it was bad. She just had no idea how bad yet.

Putting the investigation on hold, she rushed to the hospital. "Excuse me," she said at the receptionist's desk. "I'm looking for a patient, Eric Delko."

"When did he get in?"

"I'm not sure; a few minutes ago, I think."

The receptionist scrolled down a computer screen. "He's not in the system yet."

"Can you at least find out how he's doing for me?"

"I'm afraid not. If he's in emergency, we might not know for a while."

Ryan came in at that moment. "Calleigh! Dispatch said that Eric is down. What is going on?"

"I don't know. I'm trying to find out." She spotted a doctor walking by and caught up with her. "'Scuse me, is there a place where we can give blood for CSI Delko?"

"Your friend's not going to need it anymore," she stated.

Ryan looked up with a dismayed expression. Calleigh glanced at him. She was trying to stay optimistic about Eric, but that did not sound good.

"Are you saying he's _dead_?" Ryan exclaimed.

"No. No. I mean he's lost too much blood; he's on plasma now, to get his volume up."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand: is he okay, or is he not okay?"

"They're doing everything they can," the doctor assured them.

Calleigh stopped her before she could walk away. "Excuse me, can we just get a straight answer, professional to professional?"

The doctor looked at the two CSIs. "Okay." She was frowning, and didn't sound as upbeat as she had before. "They've been trying to resuscitate him for the last eleven minutes. If he doesn't respond in the next five, they'll call it."

The seriousness of the situation was beginning to sink in. She'd tried to stay positive, but even her uncommonly cheerful mind had to accept that this was very bad. They were trying to resuscitate him. They had been for eleven minutes. Each minute that went by - each _second_ - his chances got worse.

There was still a chance. She tried to hang on to that even as an ice cold sense of loss sank to her heart.

Eric. They had known each other so long, been through so much together, shared so much. They had shared hopes and triumphs, disappointments, dangers, arguments, laughs. They relied on each other. She couldn't imagine not having him there for her.

It had been so hard losing Speedle; she wasn't sure she could bear going through that again.

She and Ryan waited silently, terrified.

Emily Dickinson:

There's a certain slant of light,  
On winter afternoons,  
That oppresses, like the weight  
Of cathedral tunes.

Heavenly hurt it gives us;  
We can find no scar,  
But internal difference  
Where the meanings are.

None may teach it anything  
'Tis the seal, despair,-  
An imperial affliction  
Sent us of the air.

When it comes, the landscape listens,  
Shadows hold their breath;  
When it goes, 'tis like the distance  
On the look of death.

They both stood up when the doctor returned. "We have some news for you," she told them.

"What?" Ryan asked breathlessly.

"They managed to resuscitate him."

Calleigh closed her eyes as relief washed over her. "Thank God."

"He's not out of the woods yet," the doctor cautioned. "He's still extremely critical. To be honest, anything could happen in the next few hours."

Calleigh nodded.

"Can we see him?" Ryan asked.

"Yes. Lieutenant Caine is in with him now."

Murasaki Shikibu:

The trees of sorrow seem denser from near at hand,  
And my yearning grows for those blossoms in the twilight.

They took turns staying with him.

Calleigh wasn't sure how to feel. Should she be hopeful that Eric was back from the brink of death, or should she be preparing herself for the possibility that he could still slip away?

Mostly she felt a numb fear as she stared at his face, strikingly handsome even as he lay unconscious and near death.

In her purse Calleigh carried a silver cross inlaid with crystals. It had been a gift to her from her mother when she graduated from the academy. It had often brought her comfort after difficult cases. She knew Eric's faith was important to him, even though he didn't talk about it a lot.

She took Eric's hand, cradling it in hers, and gently set the cross in his palm, closing his fingers around it.

His hand was strangely cold. He didn't feel alive.

She didn't let herself cry; tears wouldn't help Eric.

There wasn't much she could do. She wasn't a doctor, and at that point there wasn't much even the doctors could do except watch and wait. She was a CSI; what she could do for Eric was find out who shot him.

Anonymous, Kokinshu 374:

I cannot ask you  
when, exactly, you plan to leave.  
Surely, when you go,  
like a single drop of dew,  
I will vanish from this world.

She and Ryan were working on the case when she got word that a fragment of the bullet that had been recovered from Eric's brain was waiting at the hospital. She said she would swing by and get it. The truth was that she needed to see Eric again. She was so worried about him she felt sick.

It was a given in their line of work that something like this could happen to any one of them. Of course she'd thought about the possibility of Eric dying in the line of duty many times, but coming so close to losing him was worse than she'd ever anticipated.

She paused just inside his room and took a deep breath, preparing herself for the cascade of emotions that seeing him would bring.

As she approached his bed, she noticed his fingers move slightly, tightening around the cross she'd given him. It could have been an unconscious twitch, but the sight of it filled her with hope. Maybe he was awake.

"Eric," she whispered.

He didn't move.

She sat next to his bed. "Hey. It's Calleigh."

He shifted his head toward her voice. It looked like he was trying to open his eyes. "Cal."

His voice was weak, so soft it was almost inaudible.

She laughed, smiling brightly as relief overwhelmed her. "You look good," she said.

His lips curled up a millimeter in a hint of a smile.

"Your, um, your parents are on the way; they're gonna be here real soon, and, um, Horatio was here, and Alexx."

"Where's my sister?" he mumbled.

"What?" Calleigh's heart sank at that question. She was hoping he was asking for one of his two living sisters, but somehow she knew he wasn't.

"Marisol," he said, confirming her fear. "Where's my sister? I wanna see my sister."

"Hey," she put her hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him and herself. "Why don't you rest?"

His eyes opened for a moment, then closed again.

"Just rest," she implored in a whisper. She forced a small, sad smile, then sat back, blinking and biting her lip in an effort to keep back the tears.

She wished the bullet had struck her instead. It would have hurt less than seeing her friend suffer so much.

Adelaide Crapsey, "The Warning":

Just now,  
Out of the strange  
Still dusk...as strange, as still...  
A white moth flew...Why am I grown  
So cold?


	85. Paresthesia

Sources: _1000 Poems from the Manyoshu; 2001 Waka website; The Tale of Genji; Immortal Poems of the English Language _

Chronology: Season 5, between "Man Down" and "Broken Home"

Yamanoe Okura, from Manyoshu 893:

Wide as they call the heaven and the earth  
For me they have shrunk quite small;  
Bright as they call the sun and the moon,  
They never shine for me.  
Is it the same for all men,  
Or for me alone?

He was sitting in his living room. The TV was off. So was the stereo. Sound made his headache worse.

The sun dipped behind the building across the street; shade crept across the apartment. He should have turned on a light, but he didn't feel like he even had the strength or will to reach to the lamp. He only sat, slouching, on the couch and watched his living room darken. He wasn't sure if he dozed off. It seemed like time wasn't moving right, like even as he watched the stripes of light from the sun through the slats of his blinds creep across the carpet, they were stalling and jolting. He got the impression that the day was repeating, or maybe several days had passed and the nights and mornings had been skipped. He thought about death, and the thin facade that separated it from life, and how impossibly difficult life seemed right now.

Ki no Tomonori, Kokinshu 153:

When in the drizzling rain,  
I'm sunk in gloomy thoughts,  
A cuckoo  
Sings in night's depths:  
And where might it be going?

Calleigh quickly climbed the stairs to Eric's apartment. He'd only been home from the hospital for a few days. Horatio had been stopping by to check on him after work, but this evening he had to be in court, so he asked Calleigh to do it for him. She'd readily agreed; she'd been meaning to check on Eric. In truth, the reason she hadn't yet was that she was half afraid of what she would find.

She took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. When a minute went by without an answer, she knocked on the door.

Murasaki Shikibu:

Lost though I seem to be in the mists of dawn,  
I see your gate, and cannot pass it by.

"Come in," Eric called weakly from inside.

She turned the doorknob. It was unlocked.

Eric was sitting on the couch in his front room. There was still a large bandage over the stitches on his head. He looked wan, with a few days' growth of beard on his face. On the coffee table in front of him was an empty mug and a half-eaten plate of chicken and rice.

When Eric saw her, he stood up. "Calleigh, I didn't know it was you. Where's..." He stopped talking abruptly. His right hand went to his forehead and his left fumbled behind him for something to grab onto.

Calleigh rushed to his side and grabbed his arm. He clung to her. "Easy, Eric. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I just stood up too fast."

She helped him back down on the couch and sat beside him. "How are you feeling?"

"Like crap," he admitted. "But what else can a zombie expect?"

"A zombie?" she repeated, not sure she'd heard him right.

"I was dead for eleven minutes, now I'm back from the dead. That technically makes me a zombie, right?" He was trying to make a joke, but didn't quite have the energy to pull it off.

"I'd better not catch you eying my brain," she smirked.

"I can't make any promises."

"Seriously, though...is there anything I can do for you?" Calleigh asked.

Eric looked down at his clothes. He realized he must be a mess. He was suddenly embarrassed, and wished she hadn't come. "I don't need you to mother me. My mom's been doing a good enough job of that."

Calleigh was struck by the sudden harshness of his tone. But she wasn't going to let him push her away.

Murasaki Shikibu:

You cannot think that a trifling urge induced me  
To brave, for you, that tangles, dew-drenched path?

"I'm sure she has," she replied as cheerfully as she could. "When was she here?"

"About two or three, I think. She made me chicken and rice."

Calleigh looked at the plate on the coffee table. "You didn't eat very much of it."

"I'm not hungry."

"You should try to eat."

"I don't know if I can," he said.

She forced a smile. "Want me to put away the leftovers for you?" Without waiting for an answer, she cleared off the table and headed off to the kitchen.

It was tidy. Tidier than usual for Eric. Calleigh guessed his mother had something to do with that. She put the mug in the sink, and found some Tupperware for the remains of the chicken. She turned on the light over the kitchen counter and saw a row of pill bottles. She read their labels, wondering if it was time for Eric to take any of them. Some she recognized as antibiotics and pain relievers. Another one, imipramine, she recalled after a moment was an antidepressant.

It made sense. After getting shot, nearly dying, and reliving the pain of losing his sister, it would be strange if Eric weren't depressed. Besides, the brain surgery might have disrupted Eric's brain chemistry. Depression was, after all, a medical condition.

What she didn't know, because it wouldn't be discovered for years, was that taking an antidepressant would help protect Eric's brain cells, mitigating the damage done by the traumatic head injury he'd suffered, helping him recover physically as well as emotionally.

She returned to the living room with a fresh cup of water and the medications he was due to take. Eric had dozed off in the minutes she'd been out of the room. She put the glass on the table and stood looking at him for a moment, then returned to the kitchen without waking him.

Taking some of the chicken and rice and a few vegetables and spices she found, Calleigh fixed a thin soup. She dished it into two bowls and went back to the couch. She sat down next to Eric and gently put her hand on his shoulder.

He woke up at the touch. "What time is it?"

"Almost eight. I made you some soup. You don't have to eat all of it; just as much as you can. And I brought the meds you're supposed to take a dose of with dinner."

Eric tossed the pills in the back of his mouth and downed them with a few gulps of water. "Is Horatio busy today?" he asked a moment later.

"Yeah. He's in court."

"So he sent you to take care of me?"

"He asked me to. And I wanted to."

"I don't need to be taken care of."

Her heart melted in sympathy for him. "Eric, you were shot. In the line of duty. It's a miracle that you're even still alive; you shouldn't be ashamed that you need some help."

"I know. But _you _don't need to be the one helping me."

"How could I call myself your friend if I weren't here for you?"

He looked down, deeply touched by her words. "I just didn't want you to see me like this," he muttered.

She rolled her eyes. "Try the soup," she urged him. "And if you don't like it I'm going to be disappointed."

He took a grudging sip. It was so delicious he felt his appetite returning with a vengeance. He finished it quickly. After eating he felt better, still dizzy and weak but less sick.

"Thank you," he said to Calleigh, who had remained silent during the meal.

She looked at him. "You're welcome," she said.

Robert Frost, "To Earthward":

Love at the lips was touch  
As sweet as I could bear;  
And once that seemed too much;  
I lived on air

That crossed me from sweet things,  
The flow of - was it musk  
From hidden grapevine springs  
Down hill at dusk?

I had the swirl and ache  
From sprays of honeysuckle  
That when they're gathered shake  
Dew on the knuckle.

I craved strong sweets, but those  
Seemed strong when I was young;  
The petal of the rose  
It was that stung.

Now no joy but lacks salt  
That is not dashed with pain  
And weariness and fault;  
I crave the stain

Of tears, the aftermark  
Of almost too much love,  
The sweet of bitter bark  
And burning clove.

When stiff and sore and scarred  
I take away my hand  
From leaning on it hard  
In grass and sand,

The hurt is not enough:  
I long for weight and strength  
To feel the earth as rough  
To all my length.


	86. Tanabata, Part I

Sources: _Love Poems by Women,_ ed. Wendy Mulford; _Tales of Ise; Kokinshu; Manyoshu_

Chronology: Season 7, between "Smoke Gets in Your CSIs" and "Presumed Guilty"

Medbh McGuckian, from "The Weaver-Girl":

I was weaving all year, I was closer than you thought,  
Though still a comfortable distance from my sun,  
Like the goose that summers in Siberia, and winters on the Ganges.

After a long debate with himself at the florist, he bought a bouquet of yellow roses and red chrysanthemums.

_Will you stay with me?_ He recalled her words and her voice as he walked through the halls of the hospital. That had only been yesterday. He'd offered - begged, really - to take today off work to stay with her, but she'd told him Horatio needed him, since he was short-handed as it was. Not that he'd been much help; all day he'd been preoccupied with thoughts of her, worries about her, daydreams about her.

Now he was finally going to see her. Maybe she'd feel better today. Maybe she'd be up and walking around. Maybe he could kiss her.

His heart was pounding as he pushed aside the curtain to her hospital room.

Then his heart sank.

She wasn't in the bed.

He wondered where she'd gone. Did something happen to her? Did she have a relapse?

"Excuse me," he said to the elderly Cuban woman in the next bed. "Do you know what happened to the woman who was here?"

She smiled at him. "Calleigh went for a walk with some friend," she answered. "Those are nice flowers. I don't know if there's room for them." She nodded toward the small table next to Calleigh's bed. It was already crowded with vases and gifts for the patient. There were yellow tulips, white roses, even a pot of orchids.

Eric couldn't help but frown at the sight of them. Of course it didn't bother him that so many other people loved her. There was so much to love about her it was impossible not to. He'd tried.

What bothered him was the fear that he didn't have anything more to offer.

Tales of Ise 59:

Something like dew  
Touches my face.  
Can it be spray from the oars  
Of the boat that crosses  
The Straits of the River of Heaven?

As he was rearranging the table to make room for his bouquet, a woman in a blue dress walked up. He looked up at her and realized he recognized her from pictures on Calleigh's wall. She had hair dyed dark ginger, and more roundness to her face, but the resemblance was obvious.

"Mrs. Duquesne?" he asked without thinking.

"Ms. Baines, actually. I changed my name after my divorce. Call me Sharon if you don't mind."

He was surprised that she didn't have much of a Southern accent. Her voice was carefully formal, like she'd taken too many elocution lessons at a boarding school.

"Sharon, I'm Eric Delko. I work with your daughter."

She shook his hand. "I see. She's told me about you. You're the one who dives, right?"

"Yeah. Among other things. Uh, where's Calleigh?"

"She's talking to a doctor. They're going to release her today."

"Oh," Eric was trying to hide how excited he was by that idea. He'd had a plan to talk Calleigh into letting him sleep on her couch for a few nights after she got out of the hospital, just for his peace of mind. Nothing would happen, of course. Probably.

"Yes. I'm taking her back to Louisiana to recuperate."

It was starting to feel like a game, the good news and the bad news that kept tugging Eric's heart back and forth. At first he didn't say anything, not trusting himself not to betray his intense disappointment.

Calleigh came in. She was dressed in street clothes, and looked stronger than she had before, though far from her usual self. "Eric! Have you met my mom?"

"Yeah. Kind of. I got..." He glanced back at his bouquet on the table, but then decided he didn't want to give Calleigh the flowers in front of her mother, who didn't even know him yet. "How are you feeling?"

"Great. A lot better. I'm getting out of here today."

"I heard," he said. "You sure it's a good time to be traveling?"

"The doctor said she'd be fine. And once we get her out to Louisiana and out of the city it will do her good. All the pollution in the air around here...it's just not a good environment."

"I'll be fine," Calleigh said, rolling her eyes at her mother's worries. "And I'll be back soon."

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Eric asked.

It was her mother who answered again. "I don't think so, Mr. Delko. You've been so much of a help to her already."

"Actually, yeah, Eric. If you're not busy, I could use some help packing."

"Well I could help you pack," her mother said. "We don't need to inconvenience your coworker."

"It's no inconvenience," Eric insisted. "I'd be happy to."

Fujiwara no Okikaze, Kokinshu 178:

our one promised night  
of the year will it come to  
pass Tanabata  
oh too cruel is the young  
heart that would deny me this

Eric carefully set folded clothes in Calleigh's suitcase while she selected some toiletries. Her mother was in the kitchen making spaghetti.

"I don't think you should go," he stated. "You're supposed to be taking it easy."

"I will be taking it easy," Calleigh argued. "If it's up to my mom, I won't be lifting a finger for a week. It will be like I'm on vacation."

"You shouldn't be taking a vacation right now, either. You should be home, recuperating somewhere familiar."

She smiled, but Eric couldn't help but notice how pale and tired she looked. "You don't need to worry about me. I'll be fine. Thanks to you."

He turned toward her, staring at her for a long moment. He wanted to touch her, to hold her hand or tuck her hair behind her ear, but he didn't dare. "Can you just promise to call me, okay? Just to let me know you're okay."

She looked back at him. There was something different between them, something new. They both felt it. Because of what he'd said in the hospital. It was only a matter of time. But that time wasn't yet.

"Of course."

Sanu Chigami, Manyoshu 3774:

For the time that you return,  
I will guard my life, my lord;  
O forget me not!

Eric lifted Calleigh's suitcase into the trunk of the car her mother had rented.

"Thank you," Sharon Baines said before closing the trunk and turning to Calleigh. "You ready to go, sweetheart?"

"Yeah. Can you just give me a minute, Mom? I want to talk to Eric."

Sharon glanced at Eric. "Okay. Don't be too long, though. The plane leaves at 9:45." She climbed into the driver seat.

Calleigh looked down for a moment. "Thank you," she said. "For helping me pack."

He squinted against the sunlight. He couldn't bring himself to smile. "I'm worried about you."

"How many times do I have to tell you I'll be fine."

"I feel better when I can see it for myself."

She reached out and gave his hand a squeeze. "I'll be back before you know it."

"Why are you going?"

"Mostly because Mom wouldn't take no for an answer. You don't know what she's like. If I refused, she'd think I was mad at her for something and it wouldn't go away for years. But also...I don't know how long until I'm strong enough to take care of myself, or when I can fall asleep without worrying that I'll wake up and not be able to breath."

"You took care of me after I was shot. I could take care of you now. I'd be happy to."

"I know you would, Eric, but I couldn't ask you to do that. You need to be at work. Horatio needs you." Her hand slipped out of his, and she turned aways, with a flash of sadness across her face that Eric wasn't sure he didn't imagine.

He watched listlessly as she climbed into the car, glancing back at him once.

Minamoto no Muneyuki, Kokinshu 128:

the time to depart  
has come I have yet to cross  
the great river of  
heaven but already my  
sleeves are drenched and will not dry


	87. Tanabata, Part II

Sources:_ Kokinshu; Japanese and Chinese Poems to sing: the Wakan Roei Shu, _trans. J. Thomas Rimer and Jonathan Chaves_; If Not, Winter, _trans. Anne Carson; _The Moon in the Pines, _trans. Jonathan Clements.

Anonymous, Kokinshu 172:

since autumn's first breath  
there has not been a single  
day that I have not  
stood waiting for you on the  
broad banks of heaven's river

"Are you okay?" Sharon asked her daughter. "You've barely said anything."

Calleigh had been staring out the plane window. She looked back and smiled. "I'm just tired."

"Of course you are. You had quite a scare."

It was just like her mother to fly out to Florida the second she heard her daughter was in the hospital and then pretend she'd never been in any real danger. "Yeah."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Nothing really to talk about," Calleigh said dismissively. "I just...smoke inhalation from a crime scene. It happens."

"But why did you go in if you knew it was dangerous, honey? I know you like to show how brave you are, but you should really leave things to the police until the danger is over."

"It's not always that clear-cut, Mom. And anyway, we didn't know there was any danger when we went in."

"Well, I'm just glad you're okay."

"Thanks." Calleigh's eyes returned to the window and the clouds passing below the plane. They looked as fluffy and white as piles of powdered sugar, and the sky was an unbelievably deep blue. Her thoughts drifted from the fire and what her mother had been saying to what Eric had said to her in the hospital. When she'd asked him, weeks ago, what he really wanted with her, he hadn't been able to answer. She was starting to think maybe that had been the wrong question to ask. He'd said he couldn't imagine living his life without her; maybe he couldn't bring himself to ask for anything more than that.

Kakinomoto no Hitomaro, Wakan Roeishu 218:

Crossing the Milky Way  
Is not so far,  
And so it is I wait for you to cross  
The whole year long.

The heavy air of the Everglades was filled with the buzz of insects and the croaking of frogs. Horatio and Eric waded out to where Dr. Price was examining something.

"Is it human?" Horatio inquired.

"Yes. A human arm. Other than that, I can't really tell you much, not even how long it's been here."

Eric was having trouble believing the yellowy white mass was part of a human body. "Why does it look like that?" he asked.

"It's called corpse wax," Horatio answered.

Dr. Price nodded. "The technical term is adipocere. When soft tissue decays in warm, moist, oxygen-poor environments, sometimes it decays into a soap-like substance instead of rotting. Adipocere resists further decay, which makes it hard to find time of death."

"Any sign of cause of death?" asked Horatio.

"No. The arm doesn't look cut; I think it just came loose. The rest could still be down there."

She and Horatio looked to Eric, who put on his diving mask and jumped into the swamp.

The water was murky and still. As always, he scanned for alligators and snakes among the weeds and tree roots as he swam along the bottom. He followed the bank for several minutes, looking for any sign of the body.

And then there was a shift in the murky water, a green shaft of light coming through the trees and swamp, a green so deep and bright he was almost lost in it. The long aquatic stems of lilypads swayed in the water, and all he could think about was the feeling of Calleigh's hand in his as she lay in the hospital bed.

He almost missed it: the stump poking out of the bank. He never would have recognized it as animal remains, much less human, except that tiny fish were darting around it, nibbling at newly exposed bone marrow. He swam to the surface and waved his arm to mark the place.

Anonymous, Manyoshu 2015:

I waited for my  
Lover until I could hear  
In the night the oars of the boat  
Crossing the River of Heaven.

It was always a little strange to be back in her childhood home, but now even more than usual. It had been coming so close to death: the threat of an imminent end of her life made her dwell on memories of its beginning. There was the floorboard she'd scuffed while roller skating indoors when she was ten, and the old cushioned chair where she used to curl up and fall asleep, pretending to be a cat, the harp her mother used to play, the window looking out over the front porch and driveway through which she would eagerly stare while waiting for daddy to come home.

And then there was the smell, the musty smell of an old house in the deep South, a pleasant mingling of old wood and damp air.

She walked around, looking at everything. The house was old-fashioned, and decorated with antiques. Her mother kept it tidy. Not much had changed since her childhood in terms of the house's layout and furnishings. The color scheme was dominated by the dark browns, roses, and purples her mother had always favored. The things that had changed mostly involved her father: after the divorce everything that had been his had been tucked away or disposed of. Guns, glasses, books, and pictures that had once graced wall space and shelves had been replaced, as though even the empty spaces they left were too harsh a reminder of happier times.

It had not been easy for Calleigh to accept her mother's decision to divorce her father. There had been a few times in her childhood when she'd caught her mother crying, though she always refused to say what was wrong. For the most part, when Calleigh was young she thought her parents were happy together. They were obviously in love, the way it was like in fairy tales. Her father was always bringing her mother presents, telling her how beautiful she was, saying he would do anything for her. And her mother would always pretend to be mad, and then break into a smile, laugh, and kiss him. That was the way marriages were supposed to work, she used to think.

She shook her head at the memories and continued her self-guided tour, looking over her house with new eyes. Not so much like a stranger seeing it for the first time, but like she was showing someone else for the first time, mentally pointing out places and objects associated with memories or stories.

It was Eric, she realized, that she was imagining herself showing this to. His were the eyes through which she was trying to envision this house. She wanted him to understand her, understand where she came from and what made her who she was.

"What are you looking for?" Sharon finally asked.

Was there an answer to that? "Nothing," she said.

Sappho:

sweet mother I cannot work the loom  
I am broken with longing for a boy by slender Aphrodite

It was starting to get dark. Crickets chirped from the shadows of trees and bushes. Clouds of mosquitoes swarmed around the CSIs processing the bank where Eric had found the body. Blocks of black soil had been cut out, labeled, and hauled away. They had to saw through a tree root in order to extricate the remains from the boggy ground.

Horatio had to repeat Eric's name twice before he looked up from the twilit ripples of the lake.

"Sorry. What?"

"I said, did you see anything else down there you think could be significant?"

He shook his head. "I went over the area with a metal detector. I found some empty beer cans, but if there was any kind of bullet or other weapon it didn't pop."

"Then let's call it a night. We'll come back once the autopsy tells us what we're looking for."

"Uh huh."

"Eric, are you alright?"

"Yeah," he said. "Just tired."

"How is Calleigh?"

A small smile tugged at Eric's lips. He was sure Horatio knew just as much about Calleigh's condition as he did. It wasn't out of concern for _her _that he was asking. "She's fine. Her mom took her back to Louisiana for a while."

Horatio nodded. "You know, what happened to her was not your fault."

It hadn't occurred to Eric that he believed it was his fault, but he now realized that was exactly how he felt. "I should've known something was wrong," he declared. "I should've made her go to the hospital after that fire."

"You had no way of knowing how much damage her lungs had sustained. None of us did."

"Which is exactly why she should've been checked out!" He bit his lip, and continued more quietly. "I should've been there for her. She's always there for me."

"You were. You were there for her, Eric. She knows that."

He nodded.

The brightest stars were just beginning to show in the night sky.

Issa:

Cry not, insects  
For even stars in love  
Must endure separation.


	88. Tanabata, Part III

Sources: _The White Pony: An Anthology of Chinese Poetry_, ed. Robert Payne; _Tales of Ise; Love Poems, _ed. Peter Washington_; Wakan Roei Shu_, trans. Rimer and Chaves;_The Book of Songs_, trans. Arthur Waley; _No Bliss Like This, _ed. Jill Hollis;

Tu Fu, "Autumn Night":

Silver candles, autumn night, a cool screen,  
Soft silks, a tiny fan to catch the fireflies.  
On the stone stairs the night breathes cool as water.  
I sit and watch the Herd Boy and the Weaver Girl.

Whether from being in an unfamiliar bed, the medications she was on, the coughing, or the fact that she hadn't been able to reach Eric when she tried to call him earlier and was worried that he would be up late worrying about her, Calleigh couldn't fall asleep.

She at last gave up and climbed out of bed. She made her way through the dark rooms of her childhood home to the front porch.

Her mother's house was set back into the woods. The lights of town were visible through the branches of winter-thinned trees. Above she could see the bright white of the stars, the Milky Way stretching across the sky like a river.

She recalled one of her physics professors in college explaining that every star in the galaxy exerted a gravitational pull on every other star. The professor had become increasingly enthusiastic about the subject. "The stars also have a gravitational attraction on you. And you have an of course much smaller gravitational tug on them right back."

She could imagine two stars on opposite sides of the Milky Way reaching for each other across vast space with threads of gravity.

And this led her mind back to Eric. The connection brought a smirk to her lips: when she and Eric were close, there was a literal attraction between them. And even though they were so far away, there was still a slight gravitational connection between them.

Or maybe it was more like quantum entanglement: once they became entangled, their lives would always be connected through forces more powerful and mysterious than gravity.

Such thoughts, she reflected, could only arise in a severely sleep-deprived brain.

Tales of Ise 46:

I cannot believe that you  
Are far away,  
For I can never forget you,  
And thus your face  
Is always before me.

Eric lay awake in bed. His eyes open, staring into the ceiling.

While he'd been diving in the 'Glades, his cell phone had died. When he'd gotten back to his apartment and plugged it into the charger, he saw he'd missed a call from Calleigh. By then it had been late, and he'd decided not to call her back for fear of waking her.

Did she even want to be with him? She didn't actually say she did when they were talking in the hospital. Even if she did, would she if she knew the truth about him? About his faked birth certificate, about the lies surrounding his past? He tried to talk himself into doing the right thing, risking Calleigh's esteem by telling her the truth. But the thought scared him. Maybe he was being selfish, but he couldn't stand the thought of losing her now, when they were so close.

But no: he had to tell her the truth. And he had to do it before anything else happened between them, as much as that scared him.

But what would he tell her? He was still trying to figure out what it all meant, the faked birth certificate, the people from the Russian mob trying to kill him. He hadn't even figured out how he felt about it; how could he bring Calleigh into it as well?

The timing was terrible. His life was quietly spinning out of control at the same time his heart was revolving around Calleigh. If they got involved, he didn't know if he could avoid becoming entirely caught up in her, and letting everything else in his life drop away: his family, his career, his personal safety.

He could imagine so well lying in bed with her in his arms, no murders to investigate, no mysteries to solve, no enemies out to kill them. It sounded like heaven.

He closed his eyes and allowed his mind to imagine such a world, such a blissful peace. Maybe getting marooned with her on some tropical island.

With that soothing thought in his head he was able to fall asleep.

Christina Rosetti:

Somewhere or other there must surely be  
The face not seen, the voice not heard,  
The heart that not yet — never yet — ah me!  
Made answer to my word.

Somewhere or other, may be near or far;  
Past land and sea, clean out of sight;  
Beyond the wandering moon, beyond the star  
That tracks her night by night.

Somewhere or other, may be far or near;  
With just a wall, a hedge, between;  
With just the last leaves of the dying year  
Fallen on a turf grown green.

Horatio and Eric met Dr. Price in Autopsy.

"Progress on the body from Urraca Marsh?" Horatio inquired.

"I can tell you three things," she said. "One, pelvic bone tells us it's a woman. Skull shape indicates Native American. And she was killed with repeated blows from something small, round, and heavy. The bones were cracked or dented in several places."

"A hammer?" Horatio speculated.

"Maybe. Or a rock. I've counted fourteen separate blows so far, focused on the skull, chest, and left arm. I can't tell you yet how long ago it happened. This kind of decomposition makes estimating time of death practically impossible."

Eric had been looking over the lump of matter that still didn't look like a body to him. "Who could hate this girl enough to kill her like that?" he asked.

"And why," Horatio added.

Dr. Price shrugged. "There's a possibility that this body is decades, maybe even centuries old. If so, we might not have much to investigate."

"This young woman was murdered, and justice has no expiration date." With those words Horatio turned and walked out.

Eric lingered for a moment longer, staring at the body. However long these remains had been trapped in that swamp, he was just sure there was someone, somewhere, who was waiting for her, wondering what had happened to her.

Anonymous, Wakan Roei Shu 469:

At the sound of the koto,  
The pine breezes from the mountain peaks  
Begin to sound;  
From which string, which summit  
Do these echoes begin?

The door of the small, pretty yellow house opened even before Sharon could ring the doorbell. The woman on the other side folded her arms, a large grin lighting her face. "Little Miss Calleigh, I thought you moved off to the big city and forgot all about us."

Calleigh smiled back and stepped forward to give her godmother a hug. "As if I'd ever forget about you, Aunt Lalinda. I've missed you!"

Lalinda Kipling had been one of Sharon's best friends since grade school, and she'd known Calleigh since the day she was born. "Great to see you again," she said, squeezing Calleigh so tight she could barely breath. "Come on in. Lunch is almost ready."

Lunch consisted of grilled salmon, garden salad, and homemade rolls with honey butter, laid out on fine china on a lace tablecloth.

"You didn't have to go through all this trouble for me," Calleigh said.

"Of course I do. Not everyday my goddaughter comes back to town. And your mama tells me we almost didn't have you coming back at all."

"Oh, it wasn't that serious. I was just in an accident on the job and had to spend a couple of days in the hospital. I'll be good as new in no time."

"Well, I'm just glad you're okay. And it gives you some paid vacation from work, so it wasn't all bad," Lalinda said.

Calleigh smiled. She had learned much of her sunny optimism from this woman.

They sat down at the table. At Lalinda's invitation, Calleigh said grace.

"This is incredible, Lalinda," she complimented after the first few bites.

"Why thank you. So honey, tell me about your job. Have you caught any bad guys lately?"

"I don't usually catch the bad guys, I just examine the crime scene, figure out what happened. It's really not that exciting."

"Don't be so modest, dear," Sharon said. She turned toward Lalinda. "She's the best gun expert in Florida. She knows more about guns than any of the men she works with. And they're police officers."

"Are there many different kinds of guns the criminals use down in Miami?"

"Well, actually," Calleigh said before eating a bite of salmon, "we had a case a few weeks ago where a man was murdered at a racetrack with the kind of gun used to..." she trailed off as she looked down at the food on her plate. "You know what, it isn't really appropriate dinner conversation. How's Uncle Gary doing?"

"He's doing well. He wants to see you while you're here. He couldn't get off work today."

"Well I will definitely drop by later."

"What about you, Miss Calleigh? Any special someone in your life? Or are you still waiting for that man who proposed to you last year?"

She rolled her eyes and glared at her mother, knowing exactly where Lalinda heard that piece of gossip from. "No, I'm not really dating anyone right now."

"What about that handsome young man who came to see you in the hospital?" Sharon asked. Once again she switched her focus to Lalinda. "A man she works with. He brought her this beautiful bouquet, and then he insisted on helping her pack and carrying her luggage to the car. He was such a gentleman." Sharon looked back at Calleigh, who was blushing and trying not to smile.

Lalinda grinned. "Looks like there's a new man in my little Calleigh's life."

Calleigh coughed politely and bit the smile off her lips. "His name is Eric, we've worked together for years, and he's very nice."

"But you aren't seeing him?" Lalinda pressed.

"No," Calleigh said, surprised by the tone of regret in her voice. "There's nothing going on between us."

"But it sounds like it could turn into something," she said.

Calleigh smiled and shrugged. "I'm trying not to jinx it."

Anonymous, from Book of Songs 203, "The Greater East":

In Heaven there is a River Han  
Looking down upon us so bright.  
By it sits the Weaving Lady astride her stool,  
Seven times a day she rolls up her sleeves.  
But though seven times she rolls her sleeves  
She never makes wrap or skirt.  
Bright shines that Draught Ox,  
But can't be used for yoking to a cart.  
In the east is the Opener of Brightness,  
In the west, the Long Path.  
All-curving are the Nets of Heaven,  
Spread there in a row.

"Do you ever miss something because it's right in front of you and it doesn't even occur to you that the answer could be so obvious?" Travers inquired.

"Sometimes," Eric admitted. "What'd you find?"

"Well, after fruitless hours trying to date the adipocere, I remembered the tree roots you had to cut through to extricate the body, and I decided to try my hand at some good old fashioned dendrochronology."

"Dating with tree rings?"

"Precisely." He picked up a cross section of tree root. "_Taxodium distichum_, the bald cypress. They can live up to a thousand years. And this one tells us with certainty, our swamp girl can be no younger than fourty-nine. That's how long ago the roots began growing out over her."

"But she could still have been there longer than that."

"Oh absolutely. No telling how long she'd been there before the tree grew over her. At least not yet. But I will, of course, keep looking."

"At least until we know if we'll be calling next of kin or a museum for her."

"I always did want to be an archaeologist," Travers commented.

Eric chuckled softly, then his expression faded to a melancholy smile. "I just hope we can find some answers for her."

Ki no Tomonori, Wakan Roei Shu 324:

In the autumn wind  
I hear the cries  
Of the first wild geese—  
Whose message  
Do they bring with them?

She had to call him. It was early evening, and she wasn't sure if he was even off work yet, but she wanted to hear his voice. And considering she was convalescing, she thought she could be forgiven for indulging her whim.

The phone rang twice and Eric answered it. "_Hey, Calleigh_." His voice sounded happy and eager.

"Hey. I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time."

"_No. I'm just doing some research for a case. Nothing that can't wait. How are you feeling?_"

She smiled. "I'm feeling better. I've been resting."

"_I bet_."

There was a brief pause.

She took a sip of hot tea. She was sitting on the step of the front porch with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The sunlight filtered through the branches of the trees, dappling the porch in patches of banana yellow light. "When I come here, it feels like I'm a kid again. It's like time just slows down."

"_Sounds nice_."

"It is. I wish..."

"_You wish what?_" he asked after she trailed off.

She had been about to say 'I wish you could be here,' but realized in time that if she expressed that desire aloud, he might be on the next plane. And she might not talk him out of it.

"I wish life could be like this more often."

Eric was quiet for another moment, worrying that she would decide to take early retirement. Of course he knew she wouldn't; that wouldn't be like her. But he also knew how much a near-death experience could change a person, make them reevaluate their whole life. "It's good to hear your voice, Cal."

"You too. But I should let you get back to work."

_"Yeah. I'll call you later."_

"Thanks."_  
_

Florence Ripley Mastin "From the Telephone":

Out of the dark cup  
Your voice broke like a flower.  
It trembled, swaying on its taut stem.  
The caress in its touch  
Made my eyes close.


	89. Tanabata, Part IV

Sources:_ The Tale of Genji; One Hundred Poems From the Japanese_, trans. Kenneth Rexroth; _The Little Book of Zen_, ed. Manuela Dunn Mascetti; _The Wakan Roei Shu._

Murasaki Shikibu:

Cries of plovers in the dawn bring comfort  
To one who awakens in a lonely bed.

When Natalia got to work the next morning, she spotted Eric through an open door. He was leaning over a table with several papers spread out in front of him.

She decided to drop in to check on him. "You're in early," she noted.

"Yeah, I'm...I was thinking that the woman we found in the marsh, you know, with the environment she was in, she could've been there for years. All we know is she's been there longer than fifty years, and Price says she's Native American, so she could've been there for hundreds of years."

Natalia surveyed the papers on the table. Many of them were photocopies of old books and old maps. "Eric, have you been to a library?" she asked in amazement.

"I checked out the archives at the Dade University library last night. You know, the Tequesta lived in southeast Florida hundreds of years before European settlers came here. I wanted to check if there were any villages in the area we found the body."

"Were there?"

"No. Not that I found, anyway. But on a lot of these maps it shows the marsh used to be a river." He pointed to one of the maps. "There was a bridge crossing it about fifty yards from where we found the body. The Urraca Bridge. It was built in 1896 and collapsed after a storm in 1932. I saw the remains of it when I was diving, but I didn't realize what it was."

"You think the bridge could be probative?"

"It could explain what the woman was doing there. But what I was thinking is that the bridge is downstream from where the arm washed up, which was downstream from where the body was. If pieces started floating away when the bank started eroding..."

"Then evidence could have been caught in the timbers of the collapsed bridge," Natalia concluded, catching on.

"Yeah. The mud in that swamp is alkaline enough to preserve organic material for years, so evidence buried with the body might still be there. I'm gonna go back to the marsh, do some more diving."

"You'll need someone with you."

He smiled. "You in?"

"I'll grab my kit."

Anonymous, Kokinshu 689:

Cloak spread for lonely sleep, does she await me,  
The lady at the Uji Bridge tonight?

The sun was shining through the branches of cypress trees, and the swamp was loud with the buzzing of insects. The morning humidity hung heavily over them.

"The bridge should be around here, somewhere," Natalia said, walking away from the Hummer at the end of the dirt road.

"It's right here." Eric pushed aside a clump of overgrown grass that almost completely hid a row of cinder blocks marking where the bridge once was.

"This road looks pretty well used."

"Yeah. There's a popular fishing spot not far from here."

"Well let's hope we catch something."

Eric smiled at her joke and put on his diving mask, then turned and splashed his way into the murky water.

While Eric searched the swamp, Natalia scanned the reeds along the bank for anything else that might have washed up.

When she was combing through the grasses near the bridge, she found something interesting. It looked like a wreath made of dried reeds shaped into a heart. It seemed too perfectly symmetrical to be natural. She put it into an evidence bag and kept looking. She found another one half-buried in the dirt and grass roots not far from the first. A few minutes later she found a curved section of what looked like the same kind of material, only older and more decayed, and bagged it as well.

Eric emerged from the water carrying something.

"What'd you find?" she asked.

"I don't know. Pieces of fabric, I think. Could be related, could be unrelated."

"Yeah, me too. I found...I think it might be bamboo bent into heart shapes. It was by the bridge." She showed it to him. "No clue if it's related or not."

Eric looked at the wreath and nodded, then glanced back at the water.

Perhaps it was only a result of his mind being so preoccupied with thoughts of love lately, but he felt like the hearts were somehow related.

Otomo no Yakamochi, Hyakunin Isshu 6:

The frost lies white  
On the suspended  
Magpies' Bridge.  
The night is far gone.

Calleigh had slept in. Her healing body required more rest than usual, and besides, she'd had trouble falling asleep the past few nights. When she finally awoke near noon, she found a note on the refrigerator saying her mother had gone grocery shopping and would be home in an hour or so. After breakfast and a shower, Calleigh replaced that note with one saying she was taking a walk down to the lake.

She considered that maybe she shouldn't be walking alone, but mild exercise would be good for her, and she knew her mother would be out looking for her if she wasn't home within an hour.

The lake was a fifteen minute walk through the woods. In the years since Calleigh moved away, an apartment complex had sprung up on the other side of the lake, diminishing only slightly the sense of wilderness and isolation that the tangled woods held.

A bright red cardinal exploded from the gray-green pine trees, followed by a female cardinal, marked by duller but still beautiful plumage of mottled red and brown.

The lake's surface reflected light-rimmed clouds blowing across the blue sky.

Calleigh sat on the ground, leaning against a tree to rest.

She remembered coming here as a child, sometimes with friends and sometimes alone. There was an overgrown bush nearby that provided a great hiding place. Somewhere in the woods, just far enough from the trail to be out of sight, was the tattered remnant of a hammock she'd helped hang up when a group of her friends in fifth grade tried to make a clubhouse. One of her shoes—a fluorescent green plastic sandal—was buried in the mud along the shore of this lake.

The years separating her from that carefree child came into sharp focus. Nearly dying from smoke inhalation had smacked her with the realization that she was not as young as she used to be.

The reddish brown female cardinal she'd seen before flew into a nearby longleaf pine. It made two loud, sharp whistles, and then a long series of chirps. The bright red male emerged from the undergrowth and darted to the tree, perching next to the first. The male had something in its beak. He fed it to his mate, a sweet little gesture that looked like the bird equivalent of a kiss.

Suddenly Calleigh was gripped with intense longing for Eric. She missed him so much she ached.

Taigi:

"Look, O look, there go  
Fireflies," I would like to say—  
But I am alone.

Separating out the different components of the debris he'd brought back from his latest diving trip was slow, detailed work. Most of what Eric fished out of the mud was plant or animal material, but he also found the occasional scrap of cloth or paper.

When he was finished examining what he found at the bridge, he went took the dirt found around the body out of evidence storage and began digging through that as well. He found larger scraps of the same kind of material, which he was able to identify as cotton. Between two pieces of cotton cloth that, under the microscope, he was able to guess had been a pocket, he found a piece of paper large enough to identify as money. After sorting out several more pieces of paper, her began piecing them together. Much of it was missing, but after searching through a database he realized he was looking at a five dollar bill. three of the tiny flecks of paper gave him a partial signature for the Treasurer. He was able to make out enough to compare it to a historical list, and found it belonged to Frank White, Treasurer of the United States from 1921 to 1928, which meant this money had to have been printed during that time period.

So they had a time window for their victim: the money meant she had to have been buried some time after 1921, and the tree hadn't started growing over her until 1960.

As soon as he did the math, his excitement diminished. That was still a time frame of forty years.

Of course, the bridge near where the body was found had collapsed in 1932, so if she was there to cross the bridge—and there wasn't much else in the area that would have taken someone out there—then they had a window of about ten years.

And then there were the heart-shaped bamboo wreaths. If they were related to the case, who had left them there, at the ruins of the bridge?

He had a gut feeling that someone knew who the girl was. Someone had missed her.

Ki no Tsurayuki, Wakan Roei Shu 358:

My passion too strong,  
I hasten to my beloved,  
But the wind from the river  
Is cold,  
And the plover cries.


	90. Tanabata, Part V

Sources: _Wakan Roei Shu; Immortal Poems of the English Language_, ed. Oscar Williams; _Birdsong, _Rumi, trans. Coleman Barks; _Love Poems_, ed. Peter Washington; _Kokinshu_; _The Tale of Genji._

Tachibana no Naomoto, Wakan Roei Shu 638:

There seems nothing whatsoever  
That can keep my thoughts from you,  
However those white clouds on the peaks  
May try to distance us.

Even after he got home, Eric didn't stop working on the case. He looked up missing person reports from the time window he'd found, and when nothing popped there, he read through online newspaper archives. He found nothing that could shed light on this case.

At last he sighed, rubbed his tired eyes, and turned off his computer. As he prepared to microwave dinner, he saw the time on the clock: 11:34. He hadn't realized it was getting so late.

He picked up his phone, brought up Calleigh's number, and hesitated. Should he call her this late? He didn't want to wake her if she was already asleep.

But then, it was an hour earlier there. And he had promised to call.

He dialed.

"_Hey_," she answered almost immediately.

A smile burst across his face at the sound of her voice. He loved talking to her outside the formality of work. "Hey. Hope I didn't wake you."

"_You didn't. I was just reading before bed_."

"What were you reading?"

"_Nothing, really_."

"Tell me," he teasingly prodded.

"_Just a book of poems I used to read when I was a kid_."

"Sounds like fun."

"_Yeah_."

They were quiet for a moment, trying to think of more to say.

Calleigh was lying in her bed with the phone to her ear and the book she'd been reading lying open beside her. She was staring out the window. She decided not to tell Eric how much she'd been missing him: she didn't want to sound like a lovestruck teen.

Eric broke the silence. "Sorry I called so late. I got caught up in working on a case and lost track of time."

"What's the case?" she asked.

"A woman's body was found out in the 'Glades. It had turned into something called adipocere."

"Corpse wax. I've heard of it."

He smiled. Of course she had. "So Dr. Price couldn't determine time of death, but it looked like a violent murder. Roots of a cypress tree had grown over where the vic was buried, and from those Travers figured out she'd been buried over fifty years ago. And around the body I found portions of a five dollar bill. The section with the date was missing, but from the treasurer's signature we know she had to be buried after 1921."

"Clever."

"She was dumped in Urraca Marsh, which is pretty remote. There used to be a bridge near there that collapsed in December of 1932, so I think she was probably buried some time before then. I've been looking through old newspaper articles, but I haven't found anything."

"That's too bad. Old cases are always challenging to solve."

"Yeah. I don't even care about solving it. The killer's probably long dead by now. I just want to find out who the girl was, give her a name, let her family know what happened."

"If she has any living family," Calleigh pointed out.

"Natalia found something interesting out at the marsh. Someone left bamboo shaped into hearts at the bridge. No idea if it's related to the case, but it's weird that someone would go all the way out to the middle of the swamp to leave something that symbolic at a broken bridge."

"That's true." She bit her lip, thinking about the case. "And you didn't find any missing person reports?"

"None matching the victim. But, you know...back then, a Native American girl going missing...might not've been something the cops would spend too much time on."

"But still, if someone's been leaving bamboo hearts there, sounds like that person might have some idea what happened."

"Yeah. That's what I've been thinking."

"So there might be some kind of memorial. Maybe someone made a website or blog about it. You may want to try just a Google search for it," she suggested.

"Huh. It's worth a shot. We don't really have much else to go on."

"Uh huh."

They fell silent again. Eric sat on the edge of his bed. He'd completely forgotten about making dinner. "How are you doing?" he asked.

"Fine. I'm still feeling weak, but I haven't been coughing as much. I took a walk today. That was nice, to get out and stretch my legs a little."

"I bet that was a nice change after being cooped up in the hospital for days."

"Yeah."

He spoke quietly and hesitantly. "When do you think you're coming back to work?"

"I don't know, really. A week maybe. I feel fine."

"Don't come back before you're ready. I'd hate...I'd hate for you to get hurt again."

"Well, when I do come back I won't go back into the field right away," she said. "But you know how it is. I can't just stay home and do nothing. Sure it's a nice break for a few days, but I'm a CSI: I get bored without having a mystery to solve."

"Yeah, I know the feeling."

"Hey Eric?"

"Yeah?" he replied breathlessly, hoping she was going to say something about their relationship.

She looked at the glowing numbers on her bedside alarm clock, smiling slyly. "Happy Valentine's Day."

Eric was confused for a moment, then glanced at his clock and realized with shock that it was midnight, and that it was February 14th. He breathed a laugh. "Happy Valentine's Day, Calleigh."

"It's not Valentine's Day here yet. Not for another hour."

"Then I guess I'll have to call back tomorrow to say it."

She smiled. "Yeah. You have work in the morning, so you should get to sleep."

He would have gladly forgone sleep to listen to her voice all night, work or no work, but he knew she needed rest. "You're right. Goodnight, Cal."

"Goodnight."

Calleigh put her phone and her book on her bedside desk, turned off the lamp, and closed her eyes, still smiling. Whatever was happening between her and Eric, it felt very promising. She tried to ignore the worry that something would go wrong. She was due for a romance that didn't end tragically.

Tachibana no Naomoto, Wakan Roei Shu 576:

The spring mists share back and forth  
their colors before our blinds;  
the dawn wavelets secretly divide  
their sounds to both our pillows.

Eric put his phone away and went back to the microwave. After a minute, his smile faded away. While he'd been talking with Calleigh he'd completely forgotten about the problems in his life, the Russian Mob and the faked birth certificate. How was he supposed to explain it to her?

Anonymous:

O western wind, when wilt thou blow,  
That the small rain down can rain?  
Christ, if my love were in my arms  
And I in my bed again!

Remembering Calleigh's suggestion, the next morning Eric searched the web for any information that could shed light on the case. He tried "death"+"Everglades", "death"+"urraca", "disappearance"+"urraca", and finally "bamboo heart"+"urraca". That search got a hit to a comment thread on Miamicabbie, a website where cab drivers in the Miami area posted stories about customers, tips for routes, warnings about particular neighborhoods, and other topics related to their trade. A cab driver called Quay2Key83 had made a post on July 7th, 2008, about a fare, a very old man walking with a cane and carrying a small pot with two bamboo plants that had been grown into the shape of a heart, twisted together at the top and bottom. The man wanted to be taken to Urraca Marsh. When Quay2Key83 said he didn't know where it was, the man gave him directions and promised a generous tip. Once at the marsh, the man had walked around for a few minutes, then took out a pair of sharp scissors, cut off the bamboo heart, and laid it on the ground, and left. He had the cabbie drop him off at a house in Coral Terrace which had a bamboo grove growing in the front yard. Another Cabbie, TaxiJim, added a comment that he'd taken the same man out to the marsh the previous year, on the same day. According to Jim, the man's name was Webster.

Eric searched through online phone books to find the few people in Coral Terrace with the first name Webster, and took a look at their houses in Google Earth to find the one who had bamboo growing in the yard: Webster Gulyas, 94-year-old retired gardener.

He called Horatio.

"_Caine_," he answered.

"I think I might have a break on the body we found in the swamp. Do you think we could get a forensic artist to try to reconstruct her face?"

"_That can be arranged. What do you have_?"

"Right now it's not much more than a hunch. I'll let you know if it pans out."

Rumi:

My memory of your face  
prevents me from seeing you.

Lightning veils your brow.  
Recalling our kissing,  
I can't kiss you now.

So strange, such sweetness  
could keep us apart.

Webster Gulyas lived in a small house surrounded by a white lattice fence with gloriosa lilies growing up it. The house itself appeared in gaps between the well-trimmed bamboo in his front yard.

Eric heard a dog inside start barking as he opened the gate and walked toward the door. The front door opened just as he set foot on the first step.

The man in the door was tall and thin, with snow-white hair and an ornate ebony cane that he gripped with gnarled but strong hands. His eyes were dark and sharp.

"Webster Gulyas?"

"Who's asking?"

"I'm Eric Delko, I'm a crime scene investigator for Miami-Dade PD."

"You got ID?"

Eric showed him his badge.

Webster examined it, then looked back at him. "What does a crime scene investigator want with me?"

"There's someone I think you might help us identify." Eric opened the folder he'd brought and took another look at the portrait drawn by a forensic artist at Dade University based on the skull measurements of the girl in the swamp. She was pretty, with high cheekbones, a small, pointed chin, large eyes, raven black hair and medium brown skin. The hair and skin color were, of course, guesses based on her most likely ethnicity, but the shape of the face was extrapolated by careful measurements of the skull.

He turned the picture around and handed it to Webster Gulyas.

Webster's eyes widened. His mouth fell ajar. With a shaking hand, he reached for it, then held it gingerly.

Eric let him look for a few moments, then asked gently, "Who was she."

"Come inside, please," Webster said, his voice quavering and tears glistening in his eyes.

Paul Verlain, trans. Alistair Elliot:

Memory, why torment me? Autumn skimmed  
A struggling thrush through the dull air. The sun  
Darted a colourless wand of light upon  
The yellowing wood which thunders in the wind.

We were alone, and as we walked we dreamed,  
Our hair and thought both flying in the breeze.  
And then she turned to me her touching eyes:  
'What was your loveliest day?' — her golden sound,

Her sweet voice, deep, with a fresh angelic ring.  
A tactful smile was all I need reply,  
And kissing her white hand — religiously.

—Oh, the first flowers — what a scent they have!  
And what a charm breathes in the murmuring  
Of the first _yes _that comes from lips you love!

The inside of Webster's house was simple, uncluttered, with few separating walls. Much of the furniture looked handmade. He took a seat in a rocking chair, covered his mouth with his hand and stared at the picture. Eric waited for him to be ready to speak.

"Esther," Webster said, dropping his hand. "Her name was Esther."

"Beautiful girl," Eric commented.

"She was. She came from Georgia. Came here to look for work in 1931. My father owned a small farm, and even though it was the Great Depression and everyone was strugglin', he took pity on her and gave her a job in the stable. I was seventeen at the time, and, well, you can imagine what happened then."

"You fell in love with her."

Webster nodded. Two tears slid down his cheeks. "Esther was...she didn't have formal education, but she was the brightest girl I ever met. She could watch you do something once and then not just know how to do it herself but be better at it than you. My old man didn't see that. He didn't see her potential, not just because she was an Indian but because she was a woman. She would've been the best thing to ever happen to that farm."

Eric waited as Webster wiped his tears on his sleeve. "First I asked my old man if I could marry her. He said no. Then I outright _told _him I was gonna marry her, whether he like it or not. And he went to her, told her to pack her things, and never show her face in Miami again. There was this nook in the stable where we used to leave each other love notes. Before she left she put a note there asking me to run away with her, telling me to meet her out at the old Urraca Bridge." He touched the sketched face on the paper. "Young man, have you ever been in love?"

"Yes."

"Then you understand. I packed up and left that night, after dark. July Seven, '32. It was a clear night. No moon, but the stars were bright enough to see by. When I got to the bridge, my old man was waiting there. He said he found the note and came to talk to Esther. He convinced her that there was no way I'd have a happy life if I married her, and that if she really loved me she should just leave, so she did. I never forgave him for that. I stayed at the farm for a while, but I couldn't look at my father. He said I just needed time, that I'd find a nice white girl to fall in love with. So I up an' left. I couldn't stay there with him anymore. I was his only son, and I was supposed to take over the farm after him. I knew he couldn't keep the farm going without me, but I didn't care. That was the best way I could think of to get back at him. Some years later, my big sister told me the old man was dying and had something important he wanted to say to me. I didn't go. Even then, I couldn't bring myself to see him, even if it was his last wish." He looked around his house and waved his hand in a helpless gesture. "You know, I never got married. I just never fell in love again. I was always half hopin' she would come back. And another half of me believed she was dead." Now he looked at Eric, waiting for him.

"I think that's what your father wanted to tell you. He murdered Esther. We found her body in the swamp near Urraca Bridge."

Webster nodded, looking down at the picture as fresh tears soaked his face. "I wondered if that was what really happened."

Eric swallowed, wishing there was something he could say.

"Thank you," Webster said suddenly, "for finding her."

"Do you know if Esther has any family?"

"No. She'd lost her folks before she moved down to Miami."

"Usually with unclaimed bodies, the state has them cremated..."

"If it's all right with the state, I'll take care of the arrangements. I already got a plot for me—when you don't have kids you arrange your own affairs—and I'd like her buried there, too. She never had a last name, so she's gonna be buried with mine." He was talking more to himself than to Eric now, deciding on the details as he spoke. "And the gravestone is gonna say husband and wife."

"I'm sure that will mean a lot to her. Now that we've identified her and the killer, the investigation will be closed, so you can keep that picture."

Webster could only nod his gratitude.

As Eric stood to leave, he spoke again. "Young man, you said you've been in love. Are you two still together?"

It was such a complicated question that Eric wasn't sure how to answer honestly. "Yeah," he said.

"Take my advice, there's always gonna be things trying to pull you apart, be it parents or public opinion or petty quarreling, but don't let them. If you've got something good, then remember you've got something good. Never forget it."

"I won't."

Koyowara no Fukayabu, Kokinshu 613:

long ago I would  
have died of love yearning for  
you but your words of  
promise your vows of meeting  
have become my source of life

Calleigh didn't want Eric to pick her up from the airport. She said her plane would be arriving in the middle of the day and she didn't want him to miss any more work on her account. The real reason was that she was sick of people going out of their way for her. She wanted to feel self-sufficient again.

She was back at work the next day, earlier than usual.

She was comparing bullets under a microscope when Eric walked into her lab. He paused just inside the door, not wanting to interrupt her.

When she made a determination on the bullets, she wrote the results in her notes, then smiled up at him. "Hey Eric."

"You're back," he breathed.

"I'm back."

Her voice was even softer than usual, and she still looked delicate, but he didn't ask how she was feeling, knowing she'd be getting tired of that question, and he didn't ask her if she was sure she should be back at work already, knowing she had already made her own informed decision and he didn't doubt her. He didn't wrap his arms around her and kiss her hair, since they were at work and she was holding evidence that could be dropped or contaminated. He didn't ask her to dinner because he wasn't sure she'd be up to a late night yet. Besides, she knew exactly how he felt about her, but he still didn't know how interested she was in him. He didn't want to sound pushy by asking her on a date before she was ready. The next move had to be hers.

Strangely, after the flirtatious conversations they'd had on the phone, now that he was in the same room and looking at her he felt tongue-tied.

"I'm glad you're back," was all he said.

Murasaki Shikibu:

She gazes into the skies into which you gaze,  
May they bring your thoughts and hers into some accord.


	91. Night after Night

Sources: _Kokinshu_; _No Bliss Like This_, ed. Jill Hollis; _Love Poems by Women_, ed. Wendy Mulford._  
_

Chronology: Post Season 1

Anonymous, Kokinshu 1027

ah so even you  
you clumsy scarecrow of the  
rugged mountain fields—  
want me to become your wife—  
what a lamentable lot

When Calleigh got home from work late that night, all she wanted to do was fall into bed.

She had not wanted to find John Hagen sitting on her doorstep.

"John, what are you doing here?" she asked, hiding her annoyance.

Their relationship status had been ambiguous since the incident with her father, and they needed to talk it out, but she didn't want to deal with it tonight.

"I had to see you," he said. "We need to talk."

Her face softened. "How long have you been waiting here, John?"

"A few minutes."

She was sure he was lying, but couldn't bring herself to tell him to leave. "Come in."

Once in her living room, she turned to him. "John, I have been meaning to talk to you. I care about you, I really do, but I don't think we're going to work out."

"Why not, Calleigh?" He asked it as a challenge, and stared at her with his intense gaze. "What's the problem that's keeping us from being together?"

It wasn't really something she could articulate. She hated the things he'd said about her father, but he had made that up to her. She did feel like he smothered her sometimes, like he got a little possessive, but there wasn't any specific incident she could point to that made her think that.

At her hesitation, he pressed forward. "We're good together, Calleigh. I'm crazy about you. I'm just asking you to give me another chance."

His adoration for her was clear in his eyes.

She sighed. "I don't like being..." And then she wasn't sure what she had intended to say. She didn't like being asked to spend so much time with someone. She needed her space. But maybe the truth was, ever since Jake, whenever she'd sensed her relationships becoming too serious she instinctively pulled away, afraid of being heartbroken like that again.

"Just one more chance," John said. "Come to dinner with me. Let's talk, and see how it goes. If you still don't think it's a good idea after that, I'll back off."

It was a reasonable request. She nodded, ignoring the uneasiness in her gut.

Edith Nesbit, "Appeal":

Daphnis dearest, wherefore weave me  
Webs of lies lest truth should grieve me?  
I could pardon much, believe me:  
Dower me, Daphnis, or bereave me,  
Kiss me, kill me, love me, leave me,—  
Damn me, dear, but don't deceive me!

One night after a particularly difficult case Calleigh got home close to midnight.

"Where have you been?"

She jumped. "John, you scared me half to death!"

The lights had been off, and she hadn't seen his car outside. They'd been seeing each other again for over a month, taking it slow, and he still had her key, but she hadn't been expecting him tonight.

"What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to surprise you," he said with an edge of anger. He stood up. "Now answer my question: where were you?"

"I was at the lab, finishing up a case."

"You spend a lot of time at the lab."

"Of course I do. I work there."

"Were you with Horatio?"

"Yeah," she replied honestly.

He took a step closer. "Do you love him?"

"What? No! John what are you talking about?"

"You spend a lot of time with him."

"He's my lieutenant. I'd never have that kind of relationship with someone I work with."

"Then why are you always there so late? You spend more time with him than you do with me."

"John," she said slowly, "I think you should go."

"So it's true then."

"Of course not. It's late, you're not thinking clearly. Go home. We'll talk about this later."

He left, sulking out the door.

They never did talk about it later. The next time he saw her, he apologized for the way he had acted. She said it was okay, but she knew then there was no way she could be with him. At the same time, she wanted them to remain friends, so she tried to think of a way to explain that to him that wouldn't hurt him.

Those words never came. Maybe they didn't exist.

Edith Sodergran, trans. David McDuff, "Revelation":

Your love is darkening my star—  
the moon is rising in my life.  
My hand is not at home in yours.  
Your hand is lust—  
my hand is longing.


	92. Forevermore

Author's note: This is the final chapter of _Kaleidoscope_. The story turned out to be a lot longer than I ever intended, and I thank everyone who's read it. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Sources: _101 Great American Poems_, ed. Paul Negri; _1000 Poems from the Manyoshu; No Bliss Like This; If Not, Winter: Fragments of Sappho; Immortal Poems of the English Language  
_

Chronology: Soon_  
_

Sara Teasdale "Peace":

Peace flows into me  
As the tide to the pool by the shore;  
It is mine forevermore,  
It will not ebb like the sea.

I am the pool of blue  
That worships the vivid sky;  
My hopes were heaven-high,  
They are all fulfilled in you.

I am the pool of gold  
When sunset burns and dies -  
You are my deepening skies;  
Give me your stars to hold.

Only the weather wasn't quite perfect.

Large, grayish cumulus clouds floated in patches beneath a deep blue sky, blotting out the sun half the time. It was breezy, and cooler than usual. Silver waves rolled onto the sand, the sound of their rising and falling was rhythmic, like music, punctuated by the occasional cries of seabirds.

It was low tide.

When they had discussed the place, they kept coming back to the beach. They both loved the ocean. They wanted something less formal than a chapel.

Eric tugged at his tie again. He wore a navy blue tuxedo.

"You nervous?" Ryan asked.

Eric didn't even try to lie. "Yeah." He was, in fact, borderline terrified. Not so much of getting married, but from the almost superstitious notion he had that this was the last chance for something to go really wrong. They could find a body on the beach, a tsunami could hit, and he couldn't help thinking about the cases they'd worked where a bride or groom turned up dead on the wedding day. And what if Calleigh changed her mind and called the whole thing off?

Anything could go wrong today.

"Don't worry," Horatio advised. "You're going to be fine." He sounded uncertain, and Eric understood why. For both of them, this day was bringing back bittersweet memories of Marisol.

"And hey, if it doesn't work out, you can always get divorced," Walter joked, trying to lighten the mood.

That elicited a small, nervous chuckle from Eric, who couldn't imagine divorcing Calleigh for any reason after everything he'd been through to get to this point. The idea sounded crazy.

He thought back to the first time he laid eyes on Calleigh, approaching him in the garage.

He couldn't remember exactly what he was thinking at the moment, other than that he really wanted to get her number. She was gorgeous. But he hadn't imagined it would lead to this, or how long and circuitous that road would be.

At the time, of course, he hadn't considered himself the marrying type. He was a player, someone who could charm any woman with a smile and move on to another with no emotional hangups when things got dull. To be honest, that had been what he'd hoped for with the golden-haired Southern belle, another pretty face to add to his collection of ex-girlfriends.

After that case, he hadn't seen her again until after he graduated from the academy and went to work at the crime lab. At first when they worked together he would flirt with her, lightly, just enough to test the waters with no risk of drowning in them. She hadn't displayed any sign of reciprocating his interest, and so gradually he gave it up, letting his attraction give way to platonic friendship. And for such a long time that was all. He didn't even begin to see her that way again until after getting that bullet in his head.

He'd spent many long nights thinking over what had made him fall in love with her. It had been a combination of things: the way she'd cared for him, protected him, and looked after him after he returned to work had planted the seed, and the desire for something more in his life than a series of flings - a desire which had been a result of some serious soul-searching after his near-death experience - had been the fertile ground that allowed that seed to grow and blossom and spread into what it had become, infatuation that had given way to deep and abiding devotion.

Kasa Kanamura, Manyoshu 547:

I have leaned, body and soul,  
Towards you, beloved,  
From the moment I saw you -  
A stranger like a cloud of heaven.

Calleigh's hands were shaking as she tried to apply lipstick in the trailer where her mother, Alexx, Natalia, her former roommate Pilar, and her friend Melissa were helping her get ready. The bridesmaids were decked out in bright yellow dresses with teal blue sashes.

"Now, there's a reason the bride's not supposed to do her own hair and makeup on her wedding day," Alexx said.

"You know, honey," Sharon added, "There's still time to get you to a cosmetologist..."

"Mom, we want this to be simple. I can put on my own lipstick."

Sharon shrugged in exasperation.

"Besides," Natalia said, "if we run out now, Eric might think we're bailing on him and freak out."

Calleigh smiled briefly.

It had taken her a while to work up the courage to ask Natalia to be a bridesmaid. When she did, she'd started out by stating that she had a request and she would completely understand and not be offended at all if she said no. Natalia had looked at her with amusement, raised an eyebrow, and said okay. Calleigh had gone on to say, speaking so rapidly she was almost unintelligible, that she considered Natalia one of her closest friends and it would mean a lot to her if she would be her bridesmaid. Natalia had burst out laughing. She assured Calleigh that she had zero feelings for Eric and would be honored.

"Here." Melissa took the tube of lipstick away from the trembling bride-to-be and dabbed off the excess.

Sharon smiled at her daughter's face in the mirror and smoothed a loose strand of hair. "I am so proud of you, honey. I just know you're going to be happy."

Calleigh blinked, wondering if her mother had felt the same way on her wedding day. She wondered if the other women could hear her heart pounding. She wondered if maybe she should see a doctor, that much pounding couldn't be healthy. Maybe she was having a heart attack? Maybe she should ask Alexx to take her pulse...

"Nervous?" Pilar asked laughingly.

"I can't do this." Calleigh suddenly stood up, oblivious to Melissa's grunt of protest.

She felt like she was having trouble breathing. Her head was spinning. She wanted to just run away.

"Honey...?" Sharon was at a loss at her daughter's behavior.

She grabbed her purse from the counter and fumbled around in it with what looked like desperation. When her fingers closed around her keys, her purse slipped from her shaking hands and spilled to the floor.

"What are you doing?" Melissa asked.

"This is a mistake. I have to get out of here."

Natalia stood up, firmly grasped Calleigh's arms, and made her face her.

"Hey," she said. "Cal, think about this. I get how you're feeling right now. Of the six women in this room, four have been married, and two of those four are divorced. The odds aren't great, and if you want to back out of this, that's fine. That's your choice. But remember, this is Eric who'll be waiting for you out there. He's a good man, and he loves you. If you don't want to marry him, okay. I'll help you make a getaway. If you do want to marry him, then take a deep breath, relax, and go out there and stun him."

Calleigh closed her eyes and nodded. She took several deep breathes, squeezed Natalia's hands, then went back to the mirror.

"You'll do fine, honey," Sharon assured her.

"If you don't want to marry him, can I have him?" Melissa joked.

She smirked and shook her head. "Sorry Mel, he's mine."

She still sounded nervous.

"You got something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue?" Pilar inquired.

Calleigh nodded. "Yeah."

"Her necklace belonged to my grandmother," Sharon bragged, referring to the amethyst pendant hanging from the gold chain around Calleigh's neck (the chain was more recent, the original having broken long ago).

"And she just bought those shoes this morning," said Melissa, who'd helped her pick out the white sandal-strap heels.

"She's borrowing the earrings from me," Alexx added.

"And here's her something blue," Natalia said, tucking a blue lily behind her ear, affixing it to her blond hair with a bobby pin.

Melissa finished the last touches of Calleigh's makeup, then Sharon stood and put her hand on her shoulder. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah," she said shakily.

Frances Cornford "The Avenue":

Who has not seen their lover  
Walking at ease,  
Walking like any other  
A pavement under the trees,  
Not singular, apart,  
But footed, featured, dressed  
Approaching like the rest  
In the same dapple of summer caught;  
Who has not suddenly thought  
With swift surprise:  
There walks in cool disguise,  
There comes, my heart.

Eric waited on the beach. More clouds were blowing in. And he was getting a swirling feeling in his gut that too much time had passed, they'd been waiting too long. Where was she?

And then her bridesmaids emerged from the trailer. Calleigh came out a few seconds later, carrying a bouquet of yellow tulips, blue lilies, and white lily of the valley. Kenwall Duquesne, who'd been sitting in a chair nearby, stood. His ex-wife said something to him, and then he stretched out his arm, which Calleigh took.

"She looks nice," Ryan commented.

Calleigh was wearing a blue-tinted white satin dress. The sleeves were off the shoulders, with a hemline just above the knees in the front, falling to mid-calf in back. The dress was simple, lacking any adornments other than the cut and color. It looked like snow. Her hair was swept up into an intricate twist, and the blue lily behind her ear nearly matched the streaks of sky visible between the clouds. She wasn't wearing a veil, having failed to find any that went with the dress and deciding that was one of the traditions they could do without.

"You're a lucky man," Horatio stated.

Eric tore his eyes away from his approaching fiancée for a moment and smiled at his best man. "I know it."

As he turned back, he glanced at his parents and sisters, sitting in the front row. Alexander Sharova was seated near the back row, on the bride's side. Calleigh had given him his invitation in person, stressing that it wasn't because he was Eric's father, but because he had once helped save his life.

Eric's nieces Virginia and Katelyn were serving as the flower girls, scattering sunflower petals and forget-me-nots on the sand.

When his eyes again fell again on the bride-to-be, Eric started to feel dizzy. He felt like he was drunk.

Calleigh, for her part, thought she would fall over if she didn't have her father's arm to cling to. The path between the folding chairs seemed very long. Not that it looked like a long way, but it seemed to take a very long time to walk it, like no matter how many steps she took, she barely got closer.

Then she fixed her eyes on Eric's face. He was staring at her. Step by step, the rest of the world folded away. Then there she was, standing in front of him, eyes fixed on his.

Her fear instantly vanished. She smiled, and almost laughed. It was absurd that she'd been thinking of running. Why had she been so nervous? This wasn't a final exam for a difficult class or a life-or-death shoot-out, this was just a wedding, just a ceremony to certify the bond she and Eric already had to each other.

She would keep her last name, they had decided. Eric liked her name the way it was. And besides, since they were going to continue working together it would avoid a lot of questions and confusion. She had agreed, because 'Calleigh Delko' didn't seem to have much of a ring to it. Their children, if they had any, would of course go by Delko.

When they had been discussing name changes and she had mentioned how much it would mean to Eric's parents to have grandchildren carry on their family name, she'd been overjoyed by how he didn't even bat an eye at the thought of having children. When, lying in bed days later, she had asked him if he would stay with her even if she couldn't have children, he'd said of course he would. They could always adopt, and even if they didn't, he would be happier living a life with her without children than with any other woman with children.

Eric was the one for her. She no longer had any doubts about that.

He was thinking along similar lines as he took in her face. Of all the women he'd fallen in love with, Calleigh was the only one he could imagine spending the rest of his life with.

It took them a moment to realize Father Noguerra had begun to speak. They half listened to the familiar words. To have and to hold...

To have and to hold.

A fresh softness came to Calleigh's smile at those words. To have Eric and to hold Eric. That was exactly what she wanted.

As long as they both shall live.

"I do."

"I do."

"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride."

It felt like the last possible chance for something to go wrong. Eric couldn't accept the invitation fast enough. Before Father Noguerra could finish saying the word "bride," Eric leaned in to touch his lips to Calleigh's.

The kiss lasted only a few seconds. They both drew back, smiling uncontrollably.

It was over, and disaster hadn't fallen.

They were married. It was crazy. Eric felt a wave of gratitude and relief wash over him as he and Calleigh turned together toward their friends and family gathered on the beach.

Otomo Yakamochi, from Manyoshu 3978:

My wife and I are one in heart:  
However long we are side by side,  
She is charming all the more;  
Though face to face we sit,  
She, my cherished love,  
Is ever fresh as a new flower,  
Never annoying, nor vexing.

The reception passed in a daze for Calleigh. They had music and hors d'oeuvres on the beach. She tossed her bouquet, which Maxine caught. She graciously accepted voluminous congratulations, shared dances with Eric, her father, and Horatio, and listened to the steady, relaxing crash of waves on the beach.

The tide was coming in, the party was winding down, and Sharon and Alexx, who had become fast friends in the course of the wedding preparation, took her aside.

"Your car is waiting in the parking lot," Alexx said in a conspiratorial voice. "You won't miss it. You and that handsome husband of yours better make a break for it."

"Especially if you want to change out of that dress before catching the plane," Sharon added.

"But there's still so much to do. We need to clean up..."

"Honey, this is your wedding day. We'll take care of everything. You just enjoy your honeymoon."

Sharon held up her spare key to Calleigh's house. "I'll put your wedding gifts in your living room. Don't worry about a thing."

"Except maybe getting started on some grandkids for your mom."

"Alexx!" Calleigh laughed, pretending to be scandalized by the suggestion.

"Honestly, honey," Sharon said, "I'm in no hurry to be a grandmother, but if I had just married someone as handsome as my new son-in-law is, I'd want to start the honeymoon as soon as possible."

"Stop it," she said.

Sharon laughed, then gave Calleigh a tight hug. "I'm so happy for you. I love you, honey."

"I love you too, Mom." She pulled back and smiled before hurrying off toward where Eric stood on the beach, talking to his mother.

"Can I borrow your son for a minute, Carmen?" she asked, taking Eric's arm.

"Of course."

She and Eric took a few steps away. "Everything's ready. We should go soon."

He smiled and interlaced his fingers with hers. "Yeah. I'm gonna let H. know."

She nodded.

When Eric drifted away to find their boss, Calleigh flashed a smile at Carmen. "We're going to be leaving for the honeymoon in a few," she explained.

Carmen nodded. "Good." She looked out toward the ocean, smiling. "Calleigh, I've been meaning to tell you how happy I am that my Eric is marrying you. He was wild in his younger years and I was worried about him, about the kind of woman he might end up with, or that he'd never settle down. But he has made an excellent choice."

"I'm glad you think so. And I've been wanting to thank you: you've done a great job of raising him. I'm really happy with the results."

Carmen chuckled, then grew somber. "You take good care of my son."

"I will. I promise."

Eric had returned just in time to overhear their last exchange. Calleigh smiled at him, and he smiled back, overwhelmed with the sudden realization that he was now this incredible woman's husband.

Sappho:

far more sweetsounding than a lyre  
golder than gold

It was nearly midnight by the time they arrived at the ski lodge in Colorado where they'd be spending the next week. After putting down his luggage Eric collapsed on the large bed. "I think I might just go straight to sleep."

"You'd better not," Calleigh teased, sitting on the edge of the bed. "That wouldn't be a very promising start to the rest of our lives."

He laughed and sat up, then took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply. "You know I love you, right?"

"That is what the evidence is suggesting." She smiled. "And you know I love you too."

It was going to be a good rest of their lives.

Christina Rossetti, "A Birthday":

My heart is like a singing bird  
Whose nest is in a watered shoot;  
My heart is like an apple-tree  
Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit;  
My heart is like a rainbow shell  
That paddles in a halcyon sea;  
My heart is gladder than all these,  
Because my love is come to me.

Raise me a dais of silk and down;  
Hand it with vair and purple dyes;  
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,  
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;  
Work it in gold and silver grapes,  
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;  
Because the birthday of my life  
Is come, my love is come to me.


End file.
